


Good for the Soul

by Maifai



Series: Shades of Blue and Gold [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Bar Fight, Bullying, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Genius Jim, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Starfleet Academy, Tarsus IV, They don't get together, but this is the building blocks for their relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maifai/pseuds/Maifai
Summary: Leonard McCoy had no intention of getting close to anyone for as long as he was to attend Starfleet Academy. Least of all the spoiled brat that he couldn't seem to get away from.--Typical academy era fic, but as in depth as possible. It will follow Jim and McCoy throughout their three years in the academy together, and will explore their growth from tentative acquaintances to the inseparable pair that they become.





	1. Table of Contents

**YEAR ONE**

**Semester One**

 

_ACT I_

  * **[Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/23605926): ** Leonard arrives at Starfleet Academy.
  * **[Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/23980647): ** McCoy's dislike of James grows with every moment.
  * **[Part 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/26090043): ** McCoy and Kirk are partnered up for an assignment.



 

_ACT II_

  * **[Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/27203316): ** McCoy learns more every day, and he and Jim spend time on their project together.
  * **[Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/29511639): ** McCoy gets more glimpses of who Jim may be, and the kid somehow gets him to go to a bar.
  * ********[Part 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/31748862): **** The consequences of Friday night's bar fight make themselves clear.



 

_ACT III_

  * **[Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/34551086): ** McCoy willingly spends more time with Jim, mostly due to the fact that the kid gets injured.
  * **[Part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665375/chapters/36908091):** McCoy talks to Jim about his behavior at the hospital, and then Thanksgiving rolls around.



 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY SORRY SORRY THIS ISN'T AN UPDATE
> 
> I just really wanted to put a table of contents in here, I'm super duper sorry if any of you mistake this for an actual update ;O; sorryyyy


	2. Year One, Semester One; ACT I, Part 1

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT I**

**_Part 1 of 3_ **

 

Leonard McCoy was beyond relieved to be off of the shuttlecraft.

 

It had already been about an hour since he and the other new recruits had landed, but he still felt like all of his bones were made of jelly, and his chest was still as tight as it had been when he’d boarded.

 

He shook his limbs out for what felt like the hundredth time and glanced around himself.

 

They were all gathered in what was most likely the common building. There were about eight tables, and each was designated a different letter in the alphabet. The line for M-O was packed with kids as bright eyed and _young_ as everywhere else on the goddamn campus and McCoy scowled.

 

If only he’d been born with a last name that started with the letter Z. That line was much shorter, less kids to be sandwiched between.

 

He just felt so out of place.

 

The mid-morning sun filtered in through the high-reaching windows and illuminated their surroundings. McCoy eyed the flags that were hung along the ceiling, each one representing other federation planets and colonies. What was he thinking? Honestly, what was he _thinking?_ Starfleet. _Him,_ at the Starfleet Academy. He didn’t belong with such a big scale operation, especially not one that operated in space.

 

 _God._ Fucking Jocelyn.

 

The damned woman had literally taken every last option from him, and _this_ was what he was left with.

 

McCoy was miserable as it was. The next few years were going to be hell.

 

He was just glad orientation was almost over. He had to get his schedule and the key to his living quarters, and then he’d be free to mope for the rest of the day. He itched for his flask, but unfortunately he and that other recruit had finished it during the flight over.

 

Oh, that's right. _That recruit_.

 

McCoy had lost track of him almost as soon as they’d landed. He hadn’t realized they had gotten separated, after all McCoy wasn’t trying to get close to anyone, so he hadn’t felt any pull to be aware of who was near him and who wasn't.

 

It almost seemed like a shame. The two of them had been able to have an interesting conversation when they were seated next to each other, interesting enough to somehow more or less distract McCoy from the flimsy death trap they’d ridden in.

 

And there was something about the kid… He seemed just as out of place as McCoy felt. There had to be some comfort in that fact. McCoy ran his gaze over the other lines, but he couldn’t find… Wait, what was his name again? Fuck. McCoy had already forgotten who he was.

 

The alcohol had been running rampant in his bloodstream, so no matter how hard McCoy thought, he couldn’t quite remember what the kid looked like. Except for…

 

Blue eyes. Blue, _blue_ eyes.

 

“Name?”

 

McCoy blinked in shock at the officer in front of him. He’d reached the schedule table without even realizing it and he hastened to respond. “Uh—McCoy. Leonard McCoy.”

 

The officer flipped through the stack of papers on the table, before pulling out a large folder. “Here you are, Doctor. Your schedule has been modified to fit your hours at the hospital and you’ve been given a single-person dorm, lest you bother anyone else or anyone bother you.”

 

Damn, they were really on top of things. McCoy took the folder with a quiet thanks and headed towards where they said to retrieve their assigned dorm keys. He thumbed through the folder, looked at the map they provided and what his schedule for the next few months would be.

 

Looked like he had classes on Monday through Thursday—a total of four classes—and shifts at Starfleet’s hospital on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. His Sundays were completely open. McCoy couldn’t help but sigh. At least he would have _one_ day to himself.

 

As he was passing by the services tables, McCoy’s attention was caught by what sounded like a heated argument between a medical officer and a… _cadet?_

 

Wait, not just any cadet. It was the kid from the shuttle, the one he’d sat by. There was no way those eyes could belong to anyone else.

 

McCoy paused in his step and listened in on what they were saying. The kid had seemed nice enough. What could he possibly get in an argument with an _officer_ about?

 

“I don’t need a care physician, I have one!” The kid all but shouted.

 

The medical officer who was dealing with him gave him a hard stare. “That is unlikely, Cadet, we have not yet assigned you one.”

 

The kid immediately shook his head at the officer’s response. “No, no, I don’t need a new one. Doctor Puri, I need Doctor Puri to be my care physician.”

 

Puri? Wasn’t Puri Starfleet’s top surgeon? How in the world did this kid, this rundown and bruised _kid_ , get access to Doctor Puri?

 

The medical officer didn’t glare, but McCoy got the sense that they really wanted to. “Doctor Puri is very busy and does not have the time to be a Cadet’s personal caretaker.”

 

“Look, I’m not asking for special treatment,” the kid insisted, “but Doctor Puri knows me. I’m Kirk, James Kirk. Just tell him I’m requesting him!”

 

That’s right, that’s what his name was. James Kirk.

 

Kirk… Where had McCoy heard that name?

 

The medical officer actually gave James a full on glare this time, and as they responded their lips pulled back in a mild sneer. “You being George Kirk’s son does not grant you special access to Starfleet’s top surgeon. I’m sure it must be very difficult to be told _no_ , but Doctor Puri cannot be requested to adhere to the whims of a mere Cadet.”

 

Oh, shit. _He_ was George Kirk’s son? McCoy remembered when the Kelvin Incident had happened, it had been all over the news and even though he had been too little to really understand its significance, it was a major event that was talked about even still.

 

James spluttered in offense and McCoy shook his head, before turning to continue on his way to retrieve his uniform. He didn’t need to hear anymore.

 

God, what a brat. McCoy hated people like that, the ones who thought just because their daddy was someone famous they could ride on their coattails and get whatever they wanted.

 

He snorted. James had probably had everything in his life handed to him on a silver platter, and was probably expecting everyone on the campus to willingly go under his thumb. McCoy didn’t want to have anything to do with someone like that.

 

A spoiled infant like James wasn’t worth Leonard’s time.

 

* * *

 

It was the first day of classes.

 

McCoy’s first class wasn’t going to start until 10 am, but he’d been awake since 6 am. Not on purpose, exactly. He just couldn’t sleep. He’d been lying awake all night, tossing and turning, and every time he slipped into unconsciousness dreams of Jocelyn and _Joanna_ forced him awake.

 

He hadn’t even gotten started and he was already prepared to give up.

 

He didn’t belong there. He didn’t belong at _Starfleet._

 

He belonged with his daughter, he belonged in Georgia, but there he was instead. Miles away from his _home_ and instead in the clutches of Starfleet’s medical track.

 

McCoy turned on his side in the stiff bed provided in the dorm. His room was more like a small apartment, with its own bathroom and kitchen and separate living area provided. He blinked at the dimly lit, completely bare wall opposite him. He would never be comfortable there.

 

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

 

9:25 a.m.

 

Well. It would be best for him to start getting ready for class.

 

With great difficulty, he sat himself up and out of his nest of thin blankets. Starfleet issued bedding wasn't the worst, but it certainly wasn't the best. There was nothing about it that felt comforting. Nothing about it that felt like home. 

 

His dorm only had one bathroom, which was only accessible through his room. Which was fine. He was never going to have any guests over, so he was never going to have to worry about someone having to cross through his bedroom to take a piss. 

 

McCoy took a brisk shower, temperature colder than he preferred, as a means to liven up and steel his nerves. He didn't know what was in store for him, but no matter what Starfleet was going to throw his way, he would take it with gritted teeth and forward momentum.

 

McCoy was a man that believed in following through with one's choices. He chose to join Starfleet. He was going to suffer through it with as much dignity as he could, and that would include looking his best. 

 

With a rough towel around his waist, McCoy shaved off the stubble that had been festering on his face in his days-long bar binge. Once that was done with, he took a moment to observe his own freshened appearance. His skin looked... well, not soft, but not as haggard as before. His complexion had been practically gray before, due to a mix of unfettered depression and alcohol that had been stealing every ounce of presentable healthiness he had.

 

Now that he'd showered for the first time in longer than he'd like to acknowledge, he was already looking better. Like someone Starfleet would be proud to have as an officer. 

 

God, it was still such a strange concept.  _Him,_ an officer of Starfleet.

 

He eyed the clock on his nightstand while he dressed himself, noted that he still had about fifteen minutes before he'd have to start worrying about being late, and turned to the full length mirror provided in the room. 

 

His own appearance shocked him to stillness.

 

The red cadet uniform provided somehow made his physique seem blockier, larger. More put together. It probably had to do with all of the straight lines included in its design, the stiff uniform giving him a posture more proud than he had ever imagined himself obtaining. 

 

He ran his hands over the surprisingly soft fabric hesitantly. Its texture was almost like velvet, the seams so tight and rigid, yet allowing the room to breathe.

 

McCoy sighed at his own reflection shakily, eyeing the Starfleet insignia he could see on his own chest through the mirror. "You've made this bed," he whispered. "Time to lie in it."

 

* * *

 

Autumn was right around the corner, and so the walk to his first class was warm and almost soothing. If there was one thing he could say about Starfleet Academy, it was that the campus was a beautiful place. It had a great view of the harbor and it had a decent amount of foliage and green grass scattered around. All of the buildings and grounds were clean, almost as though dust or dirt couldn’t reach that side of the city.

 

McCoy looked over his schedule and map, just to make sure he was going to the right building.

 

His first class was Federation Law. It was a required class regardless of which track he followed. Understandable, but still annoying.

 

Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to find where it was to take place. The room it was held in was spacious, and the seats climbed up in a way reminiscent of an auditorium. McCoy was early. There were a few cadets here or there, but the seats were mostly empty.

 

He contemplated going to the back for a moment, but ultimately decided that would make him seem too suspicious or something. He settled for the middle, close enough to comfortably see and hear but far enough away to blend in with the rest of the students.

 

As other cadets began to filter in, McCoy was once again struck by how young they all were. God, it made him uncomfortable. He felt like he was infiltrating a high school, since most of the cadets were freshly eighteen. At least the human ones.

 

He heaved a deep sigh, resigned himself to his situation, and pulled out his tablet to distract himself until the class started.

 

He checked through his mail, in the off chance that his daughter or mother messaged him, but it was empty. He swallowed back the disappointment of being left on his own.

 

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he reminded himself that this was his own decision. He could’ve gone anywhere, but Starfleet was his final choice. It was yet to be clear whether or not that was the _right_ choice.

 

“Hey, Bones! Looks like we’ve got class together!”

 

McCoy jumped at the suddenly _loud_ voice, this person the first one to actually raise their volume above a whisper. He glanced up hesitantly, just to see who would make so much noise, and swallowed back dread when he realized who it was.

 

 _James Kirk._ Shit, fuck, McCoy did _not_ want to be around this kid.

 

And then it occurred to him that James’s previous statement had been directed at _him._ That he was grinning at McCoy expectantly.

 

He scrambled to recall exactly what James had said, and then grimaced when the kid’s words registered. “ _‘Bones’_ ?” he asked in disbelief. What the fuck did _that_ mean? Was that what this spoiled son of a bitch was going to start calling him?!

 

“Yeah! You know, ‘all I’ve got left is my Bones’.” James said the last part in a hideous mimic of McCoy’s timbre.

 

“What- what the hell are you talking about?” he asked. God, people were staring now. He didn’t want any attention, he just wanted to suffer through these next few years alone in _silence,_  with as little contact with others as possible.

 

James was still grinning at him, not in the least bit perturbed by McCoy’s glare. “It was the first thing you said to me. Back on the shuttle,” he said.

 

McCoy wracked his brain to remember how their introductions to each other had gone, but he’d been so drunk then that no memory came up. But even if it _was_ something he had said, there was no way James could remember that. “What- No it wasn’t,” he said decisively. “How the hell could you even remember that? That was days ago!”

 

James smirked smugly and shrugged. “I remember everything I hear.”

 

That was _unlikely_.

 

“I highly doubt that, but whatever. Don’t give me any weird-ass nicknames.” McCoy pointed a finger at the self-righteous little shit, intent on making something very clear. “We’re not friends. Leonard is fine—but even that is too personable. I go by McCoy.” He didn’t want this kid to start thinking they were _familiar_ or something.

 

James rolled his eyes skyward like he was thinking hard, his lips jutted into a pout, before he finally said, “Mm. No, I think I like ‘Bones’ better.”

 

There was no way that was going to stick. Not on McCoy’s watch.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! ;w; I actually wasn't intending to start posting for this fic yet, but I couldn't help myself lmao
> 
> Anyway, we're in for a long ride ;O; I settled on dividing this fic into 45 parts, because it ended up making the most sense for the flow of the story. I hope you'll stick with it the whole way through! ;m; I'll do my best to make it worth it!!
> 
> And don't worry, Jim will grow on Bones soon! ....Or at least, eventually >_>;
> 
> EDIT: I added in a scene of him donning his uniform, because I realized such a scene was extremely necessary lol


	3. Year One, Semester One; ACT I, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy's dislike of James grows with every moment.

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT I**

**_Part 2 of 3_ **

 

 

To McCoy’s utter dismay, James sat beside _him_ instead of _anywhere else_ in the goddamn classroom. He barely refrained from releasing a drawn out sigh, but he did scoot his chair a little farther away as subtly as he could.

 

He didn’t want to socialize. He just wanted to study, finish in the medical track, and graduate from the academy. He didn’t want to have _anything_ to do with _anybody._

 

“Hey, you know what?” James asked.

 

McCoy sent a sidelong stare at him, trying to convey with his glare that he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

 

James was propping his head up on his fist and was grinning at McCoy with a too-bright grin. “You’re pretty handsome now that you’ve cleaned up.”

 

McCoy released a startled scoff and promptly turned away, and instead glued his eyes to the front of the classroom. Where the hell was the teacher?

 

“Hey, I’m serious,” James insisted. “I’m almost starting to think that you shouldn’t have shaved, you’re gonna have to beat people back with a stick. You’re like, a Grade-A babe.”

 

With his scowl focused firmly to the front, McCoy responded with, “Stop talking to me.”

 

Luckily, the teacher chose that moment to make her appearance. She situated herself at the front and the other cadets immediately settled.

 

Huh. At least they were more mature than the common rabble at other schools.

 

Peeking at James out of the corner of his eye, McCoy amended the thought. At least _most_ of the cadets were mature, but that definitely couldn’t be said about all of them. He just hoped to God James wouldn’t be distracting him during every second of the class.

 

“Is this your first class of the day?” James whispered, _way_ too close to his ear.

 

McCoy leaned away with a scowl, and tried to ignore James’ question and instead focus on the teacher. Who was _talking_ , damn it.

 

Apparently not noticing that he was being ignored, James continued. “This is my second class. I had Xenolinguistics right before this. The teacher just went over the syllabus, but it took the full two and a half hours. I hope this one doesn’t do the same thing.”

 

McCoy didn’t dare grace him with an answer. Maybe if he didn’t reply, James would figure it out and would _s_ _top talking._

 

“But this is a general requirement class, so it’s likely the teacher might get us started on notes today,” James mused. “That would make sense. I checked the class plan for the semester, we have a lot of units to go through.”

 

“Oh my God,” McCoy groaned. “Would you stop talking?”

 

Even without looking at him, McCoy could feel James’s _blue_ eyes staring at him. “Why? The teacher’s not saying anything important.”

 

Holy hell, what a self-righteous little _shit._ How could he be so arrogant?

 

“That’s not for you to decide,” McCoy growled, unable to keep from snarling at the blonde. “Unlike you, I actually take my schooling seriously. I’m not trying to talk and I’m not trying to make friends, so would you just keep it down already?”

 

“Cadet!”

 

McCoy jolted in surprise and whipped his head towards the teacher, who was glaring at him from the front of the class. “Is there something you wish to share with the rest of us?” she asked.

 

McCoy shook his head as heat rose to his cheeks. Damn it, God _damn_ it. “No, ma’am.”

 

“Then please keep your comments to yourself and stop distracting those around you.”

 

As she turned away, indignant rage festered within McCoy’s lungs. He narrowed his eyes at James, the _fucker_ , and clenched his teeth together to keep from shouting at the stupid, smug looking little bastard beside him.

 

A tiny smirk spread across James’s lips as he blinked sweetly at McCoy. “Yeah, Bones, stop distracting others.”

 

A hot huff of fury puffed out of McCoy’s nostrils and he forced himself to keep his eyes on the teacher, and not throttle James like he so dearly wanted to.

 

James allowed the silence between them to continue on for a few minutes, but to no surprise it didn’t last long. He leaned into McCoy’s space, which sent the doctor’s hackles aflame, and whispered, “You need to lighten up more.”

 

McCoy ground his teeth together and could feel the vein on his temple pulsing. Past his clenched teeth, he ground out, “I’m trying to pay attention,” as a last ditch effort to get James to leave him alone.

 

James scoffed quietly, and the kid’s breath blew past McCoy’s ear. “This is an easy class, you don’t have to pay that much attention,” James mumbled. “Honestly, I thought you were smart. This material isn’t _hard_ for you, is it?”

 

What a pompous little shit.

 

The teacher pulled up a slide for them to start deriving their notes from, and McCoy steadfastly ignored James and instead set to work on his PADD. He couldn’t keep responding to James’s baiting, not if he was going to survive the class.

 

The teacher ended up using the full two and a half hours of the class for notes, and after the first half hour where McCoy didn’t respond, James seemed to have gotten the hint and kept mostly to himself.

 

All McCoy could think when the kid had stopped talking was _thank fuck_.

 

As McCoy gathered his stuff after the teacher’s dismissal of the class, his tension built back up as he anticipated James to try to chat him up again. He pointedly didn’t look at the blonde cadet as he shuffled out of his seat, and hoped that James wouldn’t try to block his escape before his next class.

 

“Bones.”

 

McCoy immediately reacted to the nickname and glanced up at James, with a surge of frustration and shock at himself. He really shouldn’t respond to such a name, he didn’t want to encourage James to start using it.

 

James was smiling at him lopsidedly and was already backing away. “I’ve gotta get to my next class, I’ll see you Wednesday.”

 

McCoy didn’t respond, but James didn’t really give him a chance to before he bolted off. Well. He couldn’t complain about not having to make small talk right after class.

 

Really, the less he would have to interact with James, the better. He was just thankful they only had the one class together.

 

* * *

 

Seven thirty in the morning was too early for a class to start, in McCoy’s opinion.

 

He didn’t have the time to grab breakfast and only had a small cup of coffee to bring him to wakefulness. He sipped on it gingerly as he made his way across campus, the early morning air uncomfortably cold while wearing nothing more than his cadet reds.

 

Diplomacy. Another required class.

 

It was a stupid idea to start every day with required general classes. What had he been thinking? He was a doctor, he was there for the medical track. Not to say he necessarily _needed_ most of the medical classes, since he was already a certified medical practitioner, but he should have at least started his days with the subjects he was _interested_ in.

 

Granted, if he was going to be working for Starfleet he was going to have to know everything about the Federation, but he should have been more mindful of how he constructed his schedule.

 

He rested his teeth on the styrofoam of his cup as he approached the Federation Law building, and reflected on his classes from the day before. Federation Law, Medicine, and Introduction to Medical Laboratory Science. Each of them basic, but each of them necessary.

 

The medical classes would be a walk in the park, as they were likely going to cover stuff he already knew. Maybe some new information would be introduced that could be helpful, but overall, neither were going to be very high maintenance.

 

Federation Law, on the other hand, had the potential to be harrowing. If not only for the new information that came with working with the Federation, then for how exhausting it was going to be to have _James_ in a class.

 

McCoy didn’t like him. He had known too many kids whose parents were famous that had grown to be pompous, selfish, and _way_ too entitled. They all acted as if their parents’ achievements were their own.

 

And based on the way James held himself, it seemed he was the same as all the others. Cocky and uncomfortably friendly, no sense of boundaries or personal space, acting as though everyone owed him their attention and adoration.

 

What someone like _him_ wanted with someone like McCoy, the doctor wasn’t sure. But he did _not_ like it.

 

He was just glad he was only going to be seeing James on Monday and Wednesday mornings—

 

“Oh my God, Bones!”

 

Oh, _fuck,_ no!

 

It took all of McCoy’s willpower not to about-face right out of the classroom.

 

James was sitting on top of the desk of a—whoah, really pretty—black girl, who seemed in mixed parts bemused and exhausted. She must have been receiving the full brunt of James’s attention before McCoy got there.

 

James hopped off of her desk and tromped over to the doorway, where McCoy was trying to either melt into the floor or dissipate into nothing. James clapped a hand to McCoy’s bicep, and the action caused some of McCoy’s coffee to slosh out of his cup and onto his hand.

 

It burned, but for some reason the only reaction McCoy was able to muster was a glare to send straight into James’s too blue eyes.

 

It only seemed to make the blonde grin wider. “It looks like we have another class together! What are the chances, huh?”

 

“Not low enough, apparently,” McCoy ground out.

 

James released a light laugh, apparently not realizing that McCoy’s grumbling anger was genuine. “Oh man, this is gonna be fun. We’ll get to see each other every day!” Jim crowed.

 

McCoy leaned back slightly and tried to step around James to find a seat near the back. “I don’t want to see you every day.”

 

“That’s a funny one,” Jim chuckled. “Who _wouldn’t_ want to see me every day?”

 

God, how could anybody be so conceited?!

 

Hot air was blowing out of McCoy’s nostrils and he could feel that fucking vein pulsing again on his temple. He started to make his way up the steps towards the seats at the back, but James was suddenly blocking his path with an outstretched arm.

 

“Wait a second, Bones! Come here real quick, I want you to meet someone.”

 

No, damn it, he wasn’t there to be meeting people or making friends! He just wanted to study and graduate, that was it!

 

But before McCoy could voice his desire to keep to himself, James was grabbing his arm and was pulling him back to where the black girl was sitting. “Bones,” James said, “This is Uhura.”

 

McCoy outstretched his hand to shake hers, and gave her a polite nod as she did the same. Just because he didn’t want to be meeting people, it was no reason for him to be outright rude. Especially because it seemed she got caught in James’s sticky, relentless web as well. Maybe they could find a camaraderie in James’s imprisonment of attention.

 

Her hand was a lot smaller in his, and it was soft. He didn’t think about it long. “Bones,” she said. “Is it safe to assume that’s not your actual name?”

 

He snorted, and briefly flicked his gaze to James beside him. “This fucker gave it to me against my will. My name’s McCoy.” He gave her an imploring stare, and gave a slight shake of his head. “Please don’t call me Bones.”

 

She gave a soft laugh, but before she could respond, James cut in. “What? But it’s the perfect name for you! Having nothing but your bones was such a grim and morbid thing for someone to say, and you _definitely_ seem grim.”

 

McCoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t going to survive the semester. He just wasn’t.

 

James was convincing him with each interaction that joining Starfleet had been the wrong choice.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, McCoy had managed to get a seat at the back of the class and away from James. He thanked the stars for his fortune, but then it ended up being for naught anyway because the teacher had them get into groups for an assignment.

 

And, because the cosmos hated him, Jim had wound up in McCoy’s group.

 

Seriously, it was the first day of the class, why were they getting into groups already?

 

Luckily, Uhura was in his group too, along with two other Cadets. They gave introductions around the group, starting with McCoy and then moving to a pale kid named Jeff, then to an Orion girl named Gaila. Both seemed amiable enough.

 

Uhura shook Gaila’s hand and was introducing herself, when Jeff blinked in apparent confusion and frowned at her. “Uhura? Wait, but I thought your name was—”

 

Uhura held up a hand to cut him off. “No, don’t say it.” She nodded at James, who was gaping at her with aghast betrayal. “He’s not allowed to learn my first name.”

 

“What the hell!” James huffed. “You’re gonna get them in on it, too? You’re making this so hard!”

 

McCoy raised a brow at the interaction and stared at Uhura in question.

 

Before she could explain, James spoke up. “She’s making me figure out her first name on my own,” James grumbled. “Because she hates me.”

 

McCoy snorted. “I guess she and I have that in common.”

 

“But how could you hate me?” James sat up and pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m so lovable!”

 

Gaila extended a hand to James, which thankfully took James’s attention off of McCoy. As he shook it, she asked, “And who _are_ you, then?”

 

James gave her an admittedly charming grin, and said, “I’m Jim. Jim Kirk,” before next taking Jeff’s hand.

 

As Jeff shook Jim’s hand, he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at the blonde. “Kirk? Why does that sound familiar?”

 

So it seemed they hadn’t figure out who James was yet.

 

Jim smiled at Jeff and shrugged. “Hmm, I don’t know. It’s a pretty common name.”

 

McCoy squinted at Jim. What was he playing? “No, it isn’t,” McCoy interrupted and crossed his arms. “You’re George Kirk’s son. From the Kelvin Incident.”

 

There was an immediate uproar across the table.

 

“Wait, holy shit, you’re George Kirk’s _son?_ ” Jeff gasped.

 

“Oh my God, you must be so proud!” Gaila exclaimed. “What is that like? You’re practically a celebrity!”

 

Uhura was blinking owlishly and muttered, “That explains so much.”

 

And while everyone’s reactions to the discovery were amusing, what really caught McCoy’s attention was _James’s_ reaction.

 

James was staring at him a little wide-eyed, his shoulders slack as though all of his bravado had bled right out of him. He wasn’t even looking at the others as they tried to question him or discuss his icon of a father, and was keeping his gaze on McCoy.

 

Jim licked his lips and muttered, “When did you figure that out?”

 

That was… an odd response. Why did he seem subdued? “I heard you trying to use your name to get Puri as your care physician,” McCoy admitted.

 

Jim closed his mouth and continued to stare at McCoy, though he somehow seemed more reserved than before.

 

“Wait, Puri?” Uhura asked. “Isn’t he Starfleet’s top surgeon?”

 

“He is,” McCoy responded, as he continued to hold Jim’s unnaturally quiet stare. He was probably so quiet because he hadn’t been expecting to be found out.

 

 _That’s right, you little shit._ _I know who you are._

 

Jim’s head tilted to the side ever so slightly and he said, almost too softly to hear, “I wondered why you were acting different towards me. It’s kind of a shame you had to find out that way.”

 

McCoy shrugged noncommittally, his gaze never leaving Jim’s. “I would have found out eventually. I do have access to everyone’s medical records, after all.”

 

If Jim had seemed reserved before, after McCoy’s statement he practically closed off like window shutters in a storm. And in a neutral, detached voice, he asked, “You’re a doctor?”

 

What the hell? What was up with that reaction?

 

McCoy glared at him, and replied, “Yeah. The best one in Georgia.”

 

Jim tilted his head the other way and gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not in Georgia anymore, Bones,” he said. “I dunno if I can take your word for how good you are.”

 

McCoy’s frown deepened in confusion. Jim’s demeanor towards him was suddenly so different. It was… colder. Was it because he had figured out who Jim was?

 

Something about Jim’s change in manner made McCoy feel like he couldn’t be trustworthy. McCoy couldn’t stand people that were as fickle as feathers, there was no way to be sure that what they presented was ever genuine.

 

Nobody at the table said anything for a few moments, Jim and McCoy caught in a stare off, and the other three cadets left out of the loop in uncomfortable silence.

 

Finally, Gaila clapped her hands together and said, “Well, why don’t we look at our assignment! I think the other groups have already gotten started.”

 

* * *

 

Unlike the day before, James didn’t stick around long enough to even say bye once the class was over. Not that McCoy minded, it was just strange.

 

He grabbed his things and wandered out of the room, and noted that he had a two hour break before his shift at Starfleet’s hospital. A deep sigh drew itself from his lungs. He wondered if his duties there would be very different from what he had in Georgia, or if it would be basically the same.

 

He found himself in the center of campus, and after a few long moments of deliberation, decided to grab himself a lunch. Or was it a late breakfast? Brunch?

 

No, brunch was usually something you got with someone else. What the hell, the terminology didn’t matter.

 

McCoy bought himself a small sandwich, just something to hold him over before he left for the hospital, and sat himself in a shaded patch of grass that was off of the main campus path. It was out of the way, but not so far that he would seem like a weird loner or something.

 

He leaned against the closest tree trunk and scrolled through his PADD. Again, no messages. He supposed he would have to get used to that.

 

As he was pulling up his Medicine textbook to study while he ate, a bright and familiar laugh drew his attention to the main path.

 

 _James_. God, could McCoy not have even _one minute_ where he didn’t have to look him?

 

James was walking with someone, and it looked like—Wait.

 

Was that Captain Pike?

 

McCoy squinted hard at the pair as they walked down the path, watched how they chatted and seemed so companionable beside each other.

 

Pike suddenly laughed at something Jim said and then clapped the kid on the shoulder.

 

Of course. Of fucking course.

 

Of _course_ James had friends in high places. How else did he get such immediate admission to Starfleet? McCoy had seen him on that shuttle ride, he had definitely been a last minute addition.

 

It only made sense that he was allowed into the game so late because of who he knew and who he was.

 

As James and Pike rounded a corner that took them out of sight, McCoy swallowed back sour saliva. Fuck. Everything about James put a bad taste in his mouth.

 

Why the hell did he have to share a class with James _every day?_ McCoy was positive that it would take a miracle for him _not_ to murder Jim by the time the semester ended.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehehe..... XoX Bones still doesn't like Jim.
> 
> And now it's looking like Jim doesn't like Bones, either! 
> 
> Don't worry, things will smooth out between them soon (or eventually).
> 
> Also, I think this chapter's length is going to be the average length of chapters for this fic. The first chapter was definitely the shortest, and there will definitely be some pretty long ones in the future. This fic is gonna take a while ;w; 
> 
> (also, don't worry, I'm still working on my other fic too! Chapter 20 of Could Only Handle So Much is in the works and I plan to upload that one next)


	4. Year One, Semester One; ACT I, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy is going to have to spend more time with Kirk.

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT I**

**_Part 3 of 3_ **

 

An entire two weeks had come and gone at Starfleet Academy, and during that time, three things had made themselves very clear to McCoy.

 

One, he couldn’t stand James T. Kirk.

 

Two, everybody else loved him. (Or at the very least, encouraged him.)

 

And three…

 

The universe was taking every possible opportunity to throw the two of them into each other’s company.

 

They were only on the second week, and McCoy had already been forced into the same group as Kirk _seven. Different. Times._

 

They only shared two classes! The chances for both classes to insist on so many group projects and discussions _already_ , and for he and Jim to be in the same group every time, had to have been so much lower than they apparently were.

 

And yet, just like everything else in McCoy’s life, anything that could go wrong _would_ go wrong, no matter the likelihood of such things happening.

 

Which was why it was with a heavy sigh of defeat that McCoy felt he could do nothing more than slouch in his seat as he and Kirk were paired up once again.

 

“Holy shit,” Kirk chuckled beside him. “We’re in the same group _again_. Do you think our teachers are matchmakers or something?”

 

McCoy rubbed his hands over his eyes and brow while weariness laid a heavy blanket over his shoulders. “Do you think anyone would notice if I killed them for subjecting me to this so often?”

 

A mock gasp sounded out of Jim’s too-big-mouth, and he said with no small ounce of affrontment, “What?! I thought doctor’s weren’t supposed to have a malicious bone in their body!”

 

“Who the fuck gave you that idea?” McCoy grumbled, and eyed the board at the front of the class.

 

Jim had brought up the whole doctor thing at least once a day since he found out. McCoy couldn’t figure out why he was so fixated on it, or why Jim’s demeanor towards him had become particularly unpredictable ever since.

 

He would still annoy him every chance he got, and his whole buddy-buddy schtick hadn’t abated at all, but… Jim's expressions seemed a little tighter, and he often made little comments that implied that doctors were dangerous, or maybe just McCoy specifically. To add to that, McCoy had noticed during the second week that Jim _never_ made physical contact with him. He also noticed that Jim made physical contact with everybody else.

 

McCoy huffed and blinked himself from his musings. He wasn’t bothered by how Jim treated him, just confused. It didn’t matter anyway. What _did_ matter at that moment was what he and Jim had just been assigned to work on together.

 

He ran his eyes over the board that was displaying the assignment details and chewed on his lip.

 

Since the class was Diplomacy, their assignment was to write a report on what makes successful and unsuccessful diplomatic missions, and how to maintain a sense of control and peace when dealing with unknown or hostile civilizations—or individuals. They were going to have to offer a thesis of the three most important fundamentals for proper diplomatic interaction, and they were also going to have to include an interview with a starship captain that had been involved in at least one diplomatic mission.

 

God. The whole assignment sounded not only arduous, but incredibly time consuming. When was the teacher expecting them to finish it by?

 

Jim’s hand shot up just as McCoy finished his thought.

 

“Commander Galaar?” Jim called, and continued once the professor noticed him. “When is this due?”

 

“Thank you for asking, Kirk, I was just about to get to that. Now, I realize that assigned projects that determine a large portion of one’s grade have become sort of old fashioned,” the Tellarite professor said, just as a sinking feeling worked its way down McCoy’s stomach.

 

Oh, no. How intensive was this project going to be?

 

“But I still see the appeal in it,” their teacher continued. “I’ve put you all into pairs, as you saw on the list I just put up, and I want you and your partner to reassure me that you’ve understood the fundamentals of Federation diplomacy by the semester’s end.”

 

The semester’s _end?_

 

The slide on the board changed, and showed the intended due date for the project.

 

December 14th. The second to last day of the semester.

 

“Now keep in mind, not only do I expect a full twenty pages of exemplary writing, but you will also be presenting your thesis to the class on the final date,” Galaar added.

 

Oh, God, what made McCoy think going back to school was a good idea? Did he really hate himself so much? The assignment was a death sentence. A massive project, in a required class that he _needed_ to graduate, and that he would be working on with _Jim Kirk._ And it would be _just_ the two of them.

 

And if he was being honest with himself, he just _knew_ he was going to have to do the majority of the work. He’d been in plenty of group assignments back in public school, and it always ended up that he was the one who kept the assignment afloat.

 

He side-eyed Jim, the way the younger cadet was chewing on the end of his pen like it was a stick of jerky and not a writing utensil. Fuck. It seemed like McCoy was going to be doing all of the work this time, too. There was no way he was going to be able to trust Jim to help him in the assignment.

 

“Man, doesn’t this sound fun?” Kirk hummed beside him, looking over and catching McCoy’s gaze dead on. His smile was too bright for someone who understood how much work was going to be involved in the project, which meant Jim must have also figured out that McCoy was the type of person to pick up the slack in a group project.

 

McCoy was going to murder him before Christmas.

 

* * *

 

As if the nightmare that was going on in Diplomacy wasn’t bad enough, McCoy still had other classes he had to do work for. Topped off with a couple of eight hour shifts at the hospital.

 

 _We’ll make sure your shifts don’t add too much stress to your schoolwork,_ they’d said. The lying bastards.

 

McCoy slammed a couple of hardy textbooks onto the first small table he set his eyes on, and was immediately shushed by the librarian. “Sorry,” he whispered.

 

He shook his head at himself and sat down, while his chair squeaked under his weight.

 

McCoy hadn’t been in a library in a long time, not since he had just been married. When he was walking around the campus during his lunch the day before, he happened upon the Academy’s library. It was bigger than he expected, but it shouldn’t have surprised him.

 

Starfleet _was_ an interplanetary establishment, after all. Of course they would have useful texts ranging from Terran to Edosian, and of course there would be lots of it. He had wanted to get his hands on the books immediately after spotting the large building, but it was just before his Introduction to Medical Laboratory Science class had started.

 

But now, he had almost two hours before his day’s shift at the hospital was to begin.

 

He scratched his hair and pulled the _Andorian Anatomy_ textbook off of the stack he'd grabbed. He figured he could use the library’s resources to not only catch up on material in his classes, but he could also read the things that just weren’t available in Georgia. Like books or documents on diseases unique to Vulcans or Orions, or how measles affected Andorians when compared to humans.

 

Georgia had plenty of info on human diseases, and there _was_ some interplanetary material available through public networks, but most interplanetary works could only be found in physical form and the vast majority of it was kept at Starfleet’s homebase in San Francisco. At least, that was where all of the _good_ stuff was being kept.

 

And now that he finally had his hands on the material that really interested him…

 

Well, there was a giddiness building in his chest that he hadn’t felt in years.

 

He flipped his chosen textbook to its first chapter, _Andorian Bone Structure_ , and set to reading.

 

* * *

 

McCoy soon made it a habit of his to visit the library every Tuesday and Thursday before his hospital shift.

 

It was a place of reprieve from all of the rabble that dominated the rest of the campus, and there were books and documents that were actually _interesting_ everywhere he looked. He could entertain himself for hours on end—if his schedule only allowed it. But as things were, he only had a maximum of two hours per library break, but it was still better than nothing.

 

And the absolute best part about the library, the thing that had been inspiring him to go more than anything for the past few days, was that there was absolutely zero chance of ever running into Kirk there.

 

Hell, McCoy wondered if Jim had ever even held a book in his life. If he was ever even read to as a kid, it was probably done for him by nannies or whatever the heck comes with having your daddy be a highly valued hero.

 

Shifting in his seat, McCoy cast the thought aside. It didn’t matter whether or not the kid ever read, all that mattered at the moment was that he wasn’t there. McCoy was going to take what little relief he could get.

 

Which apparently wouldn’t be very much at all, because with a quick glance up, McCoy realized that Jim was sitting a few tables away.

 

A knee-jerk reaction of repulsion punched him in the gut and he shot up straighter in his seat, effectively slamming his knee into the table.

 

_Fuck, damn it, shit!_

 

He bit his tongue to keep from yelling out loud, and clutched at his leg in both pain and frustration.

 

What was Jim doing there?!

 

He couldn’t possibly be studying, McCoy had never seen him jot down a single note in any of their classes. Was he there to steal something? Vandalize the books?

 

McCoy swallowed down the rest of the throbbing in his knee, and lifted his head from the book that he had smothered his face into to combat any expletives that had tried to escape.

 

Jim was definitely right there, in the library, and it wasn’t a hallucination as McCoy had briefly hoped. Luckily the kid wasn’t looking his way, which meant McCoy hadn’t inadvertently given him more teasing material by slamming his knee. Lord knew McCoy didn’t need Jim to have _more_ reason to talk at him.

 

McCoy glanced at Jim’s surroundings and immediately realized Jim wasn’t there for _books—_ but a cute Zaldan girl that was standing nearby him.

 

God, that just figured. Of Course Jim couldn’t keep his predatory hunt for bedmates outside like a normal person. Why did he have to come into the library to do something like that?

 

McCoy chewed on his lip in agitation and averted his gaze, and tried to force himself to refocus on his homework. Because even though he liked going into the library just to read, he had also found that it was the best place to get classwork done. And as it was, there was a lot of classwork.

 

Especially with that Diplomacy project. McCoy had gotten a head start on it, because he knew that if he wouldn’t, then _Jim_ never would.

 

And almost as if to prove his point, Jim’s bright laugh floated its way back to McCoy, causing the doctor to glance up and catch an eye-full of Jim’s glowing smile. How _nauseating_. Nobody who was working on classwork could ever laugh that brightly.

 

McCoy watched what Jim was doing more critically, to see what had the kid in such high-spirits in a place reserved for studying. It looked like Jim was offering for the Zaldan girl to join him, and she… actually seemed to be taking the offer. Figured. Another person caught in Jim's charms. But just as she approached the table, Jim pulled her chair out for her.

 

Which was a bad move on his part.

 

Not surprisingly, the Zaldan swiped a hard slap across Jim’s face as soon as she was close enough. Oh, McCoy knew he was going to treasure the kid’s stunned look for weeks to come. She promptly turned and strode away, and with how Jim was blinking owlishly at her retreating figure, McCoy couldn’t keep the bubbling chuckles in his chest inside.

 

So he really shouldn’t have been surprised when his laughing caught Jim’s attention.

 

McCoy quickly swallowed down his mirth, as Jim’s oncoming approach convinced McCoy he should have left the library as soon as he noticed the Kirk kid.

 

Jim stepped right up to McCoy’s table, rubbing his cheek, and said, “Do you have any idea what that was about?”

 

McCoy raised his eyebrow and closed his textbook. He wasn’t going to be getting any work done in the near future. “She was a Zaldan.”

 

“So?” Jim pulled the chair across from McCoy out and plopped into it. “Do Zaldans always just slap people?”

 

McCoy shook his head. “No, that’s not it. You pulled her chair out for her.”

 

The confused squint Jim gave him was almost pitiful. The kid really was too stupid to understand basic social interaction with other species.

 

“Let me explain,” McCoy huffed, “in simple terms. Zaldans don’t like acts of courtesy. So when you pulled her chair out for her, she saw that as you being dishonest with your intentions.”

 

Jim shook his head in disbelief and threw his hands up. “How is that a dishonest act?”

 

McCoy raised his brows and propped his chin on his hand. “You wanted to sleep with her, didn’t you?”

 

The kid had the decency to look away before shrugging. “I mean, yeah.”

 

“Well, there you go,” McCoy said, and flipped his textbook back open. “She probably knew you wanted to sleep with her, and would have preferred that you were upfront about it instead of trying to act courteous.” McCoy started trying to find the page he had been on before. Maybe Jim would get the hint and leave, so he could get back to working on _their_ project. "Zaldans hate courtesy. They prefer for people to act genuinely. Doing otherwise is seen as rude."

 

“I had no idea,” Jim mused while blatantly staring at McCoy. “Thanks for letting me know. That’ll make it easier to get with Zaldans from now on.”

 

McCoy shook his head as he ran his eyes over the table of contents. “Is sleeping around all you think about? You do realize that this is a _school_ , right? A school is where you go to _learn_ stuff.”

 

Jim didn’t reply for a moment, which spurred McCoy to glance up at him. Jim was sitting there with his arms crossed, leaning into the back of the chair like he was comfortable. He was watching McCoy quietly, and the doctor was once again thrown by how strange Jim’s subtle behaviors towards him were.

 

McCoy didn’t know what Jim thought of him. Or, more importantly, why Jim still spoke to him. Surely it wasn’t being lost on Jim that McCoy thought very lowly of him.

 

And then there was the staring Jim would sometimes do, like now. McCoy wasn’t sure what he was getting out of it. Was he trying to decipher something? Like if McCoy really hated him or not?

 

What was it that he was looking for?

 

“What are you reading?” Jim asked and sat up, which McCoy reflexively did in turn.

 

Having Jim ask him what he was studying was _not_ something McCoy was expecting. Did he even care? “Um, I—I’m looking up the most common aspects of successful diplomatic missions.”

 

“Oh!” Jim suddenly stood out of his seat and came around to McCoy’s other side, and sat himself down there. “Is this for our project? You should have said something! This is supposed to be done by both of us, not just you!”

 

“Oh, please.” McCoy couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes if he tried. “You really expect me to believe you’ve been paying enough attention in class to actually _help_ me on this?”

 

A genuinely affronted expression scrunched Jim’s face. “Of course I’ve been paying attention! Trust me, I’m really good with projects like this. What’ve you got done so far?”

 

McCoy released a deep sigh and scratched at his hair. Would it really be a good idea to trust Jim to help? The kid didn’t even take notes, and was more often than not talking while the teacher was. And McCoy really wanted to get a good grade. “No offense, but I’m seriously having my doubts as to how helpful you’re gonna be. I mean, have you even heard a single thing the teacher has said this semester?”

 

“Yeah, absolutely, I’m a great listener,” Jim huffed. What a lie. “But, I get it,” the kid admonished and raised a hand. “I know you don’t trust me and I know you think I’m an idiot. Which, I’ll admit, there’s a lot I don’t know.”

 

McCoy flushed. He hadn’t been trying to be subtle with his dislike of Jim, but to have confirmation that Jim was well aware of what McCoy thought was in dual parts embarrassing and confusing.

 

If Jim really was aware of what McCoy thought, why would he even waste time talking to him? Why hadn’t Jim been responding in kind, or at least been keeping the interactions between them at a minimum?

 

“But you should let me help anyway,” Jim finished. “Even if you think my contributions are lousy, some help is better than no help, right?”

 

That was… a rather generous thought. McCoy almost wanted to take it, but he still had his doubts. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but…” The alarm on McCoy’s PADD chose that moment to go off, signifying that it was time for McCoy to get ready for his shift. “Oh, hell. We can talk about this tomorrow, but I’ve gotta go.”

 

As McCoy started to gather his stuff, Jim sat back and out of his way, and only turned as McCoy started to head towards the exit.

 

“Oh, Bones,” Jim called.

 

Again with that nickname.

 

McCoy turned around, while a flush of disappointment with himself for responding to the name rolled its way down his neck.

 

“If you’re looking up good examples of diplomacy, don’t look at the missions whose sole purpose were to negotiate. Look up the ones involving hostage situations or battles. That’s where the good stuff is.” Jim gave him a wink, and waved while McCoy turned from sight.

 

That was an interesting suggestion, something the teacher hadn’t recommended they study. McCoy squeezed the strap of his bag, and took in what had just transpired. It felt like… there was more to Jim than he had originally assumed. A lot more.

 

Later that night, when McCoy had a break at the hospital, he found time to look up a mission like one Jim had mentioned. And the kid was right. In the high-stakes situations, where lives were on the line, the diplomatic choices were much more interesting.

 

Maybe… Jim wouldn’t be as bad of a partner for the project as McCoy had originally thought.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.... am so sorry for taking so long ;m; 
> 
> I don't have a good enough excuse for sleeping on this for basically the entirety of summer. /o\ There's just so much that's happened in the last few months?? I got a boyfriend?? Finished another year of college?? I gotta move?? Aiyah, so much, so much...
> 
> But! About this chapter! Slowly but surely, McCoy is getting a better grasp on Jim UoU And now they're stuck on a project together! I got the idea for the project based on stuff I've had to do in college, so I was making it as awful sounding as possible. My whole idea for their academic work in this fic is the kind of academic work that makes me tired just thinking about it.
> 
> Speaking of which! Months ago, when I first started outlining this fic, I wrote up the schedule for both Jim and McCoy. And I even put it into a cohesive schedule, one for each semester they attend. I'm thinking of uploading this semester's schedule maybe on the next chapter, if that's something ya'll are interested in seeing?
> 
> Also, I promise I'm still working on Could Only Handle So Much... >_>;; I'm 5 pages into the next chapter, which is probably about halfway. Spock is just.... so hard to write for.... And between the two fics, I wanted to update this one sooner. Mostly because the other one has a higher-word count, and I feel bad for leaving this one unattended when it's still so young ;o;


	5. Year One, Semester One; ACT II, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy learns more every day, and he and Jim spend time on their project together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I wanted to share this since the beginning!!! ;O; I completed one of these for every semester that's to come, on the off chance that it helps someone follow along with McCoy's day. Anyway, here it is now! I'll add it into the prior chapters, also.
> 
> And don't worry, when Jim joins, I have his schedule all ready with McCoy's.
> 
> https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1Um3iTmZ7ZDqG5FC89LC_c8p1YG4ITu8TMtTqmfACHFE/edit?usp=sharing 
> 
> Let me know if this link doesn't work!

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT II**

**_Part 1 of 3_**

 

 

McCoy was starting to suspect that Jim wasn’t as much of an idiot as he had originally thought.

 

He was definitely still an _idiot_ , but just… maybe _less_ so than McCoy had initially assumed.

 

They were once again in Federation Law and Jim was sitting beside him as usual, but for this class McCoy was trying to pay more attention to Jim than he’d ever cared to before. After their encounter in the library the day prior, McCoy was confused by the younger man.

 

To be honest, he had thought he’d had Jim figured out.

 

Spoiled, arrogant, careless, and attending Starfleet Academy for the sole purpose of hooking up with as many different species as he could. And the kid undoubtedly had no interest in academics or learning.

 

McCoy had been _sure_ that was all there was to him.

 

But after taking Jim’s suggestion for their project’s topic, and seeing how good of an idea it actually was, McCoy was stumped. Was Jim actually way smarter than he had been letting on?

 

It didn’t seem likely.

 

Jim just didn’t have the air of someone who was hiding something, and he certainly didn’t have the air of someone who knew what he was doing. And again, he was _never paying attention._

 

McCoy was watching Jim out of the corner of his eye. They were supposed to be taking down notes (which McCoy was doing, because he’s a good student), but Jim was just sitting there on his PADD and scrolling. Scrolling through what, McCoy wasn’t sure. But nothing they were doing at that moment should have even involved scrolling.

 

“What're you staring at, doc?” Jim asked without taking his eyes off his PADD.

 

McCoy blinked at him in surprise, he didn’t exactly expect to be caught so soon. He wouldn't let himself get embarrassed though, so he just swallowed and continued typing his notes. “Why aren’t you paying attention? We're supposed to be taking notes right now.”

 

Jim grunted in acknowledgment, but didn't stop what he was doing. “Don't need notes.”

 

Yeah, _right._

 

McCoy sighed. “Whatever.” They were going to have an exam the next time Federation Law met. If Jim wanted to fail, that was his choice. Maybe it would teach him to pay attention in the future.

 

* * *

 

The cosmos hated McCoy.

 

That was all he could figure, because even when he wasn’t in class with the kid, he just couldn’t escape _conversations_ about Jim. He was in Medicine, Goddammit, the class was supposed to be a safe haven from anything Jim related. But, no. Apparently even that was too much to ask for.

 

“No, yeah, I have him in one of my classes too!” Salha, a nice Orion girl, practically shouted in McCoy’s ear. “He’s super cute, don’t you think?”

 

The first response came in the form of a huff on the other side of the table. “I guess. But he seems kind of stupid, doesn’t he?” Ange, the other girl in the group, responded. She scratched at her nose distractedly. “He keeps asking me to get drinks with him, but I’d like him more if he’d drop the dumb act.”

 

“What makes you think it’s an act?” The Orion named Thelen grumbled beside McCoy. “He’s as dumb as he seems.”

 

McCoy almost wanted to agree with Thelen, but he’d rather not get involved with the conversation at all. They were supposed to be working on a worksheet, damn it, not gossiping about _James Fucking Kirk._

 

“Hey,” McCoy started, “On question fifteen, I think the component most prevalent in Vulcan medicine that they’re talking about is—”

 

“C’mon, it’s got to be an act,” Jeff interrupted, bringing the conversation _right_ back to Kirk. “I mean, it’s just not possible to get admitted here if your intelligence isn’t at least a _little_ above average. Remember how hard the entrance exam was? The pass rate is as low as it is for a reason. Only the most capable could ever even reach the preparatory program. If Jim wasn’t capable, he wouldn’t be here.”

 

Wait, what?

 

What were they talking about? What entrance exam? What _preparatory program?_

 

“Hm, Jeff does have a point,” Ange mumbled. “But then, why does he act like that? Do you think it’s for attention?”

 

“Wait,” McCoy said quietly. “He took an entrance exam?”

 

Salha shrugged. “He would’ve had to have to even be here. You know, like the rest of us?”

 

“Unless he was officially recommended by a high ranking officer,” Thelen huffed.

 

What?

 

“Oh, shit, that’s true,” Ange murmured. “Officially recommended students are so rare, though. Do you seriously think he is one?”

 

Wait a second. _Wait_.

 

There was an entrance exam? A difficult one, with an extremely low pass rate?

 

McCoy definitely didn’t take it, that sounded like something he would remember. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before, of course Starfleet had an entrance exam. It was a prestigious establishment for a reason.

 

But… not only did McCoy not take the entrance exam, he _definitely_ didn’t go to a preparatory program either.

 

Fuck. The school wouldn’t have let him get on the shuttle if he wasn’t permitted to be there, which meant…

 

He was officially recommended and he hadn’t even realized it.

 

He tried to wrack his brain, tried to remember how that came to be.

 

He could vaguely remember some Starfleet personnel trying to recruit him at the hospital in Georgia, years ago. He had still been married then, and it was after he had released his first research paper.

 

The Starfleet representatives had come back multiple times, but he had turned them away each chance he was given in typical Leonard McCoy fashion.

 

He had been refusing them, at least until just recently. After Jocelyn had ripped the rug right out from under his feet, the only possible option he could even remember having left was Starfleet, and the persistent medical officers that kept trying to fetch him.

 

In his drunken haze approaching the nearest shipyard (which happened to be all the way in Goddamn Iowa), he had just stumbled to the first shuttlecraft he saw, gave them his name, and holed himself up in the bathroom.

 

It hadn’t even occurred to him at that time that most everyone on that craft had had to undergo an extensive screening process, including exams and training and the sort of stuff that involved _weeks_ of work, just to be allowed on the shuttlecraft. He had just…

 

Walked right in, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the whiskey in his flask.

 

Forget about exams, he’d hardly put in any effort to get into Starfleet, excluding the medical work he had been doing before.

 

Now that McCoy had it figured out that he was an officially recommended student, he was faced with an even bigger problem.

 

Who had recommended him in the first place?

 

He should know who he had to thank for giving him a second chance. But he hadn’t received any messages, and no one had come to talk to him or express their relief at him finally joining. But obviously their want for him to be there had withstood the years of his rejection, because if they didn’t still want him to join, then they would have given up and rescinded their recommendation for his admittance.

 

And if their recommendation had been withdrawn, he wouldn’t have been allowed on the shuttlecraft in the first place. But he was, which meant they had still hoped he would show. But if they had been waiting for him for so long, why hadn’t they approached him about it yet? Were they waiting for _him_ to approach _them?_

 

But he didn’t even know who _they_ were. And try as he might, he couldn’t summon up any faces of the officers who had once come to him in person. After years of work and grief and self-hatred and _drink_ , their physical appearances had been completely drowned out.

 

All he knew was that he had once met officers who talked to and wanted him, but he couldn’t remember a single distinguishing feature of theirs. Who had originally scouted him?

 

“McCoy? Len?”

 

McCoy jolted at his old nickname being used, and blinked at Salha.

 

She raised her brows and smiled. “You with us? We were wondering if you had any input as to whether or not acthelatyne was a safe or unsafe amino acid to introduce to a Tellarite’s system.”

 

“Unsafe,” McCoy responded as he continued to blink himself back to the present. So, it seemed like they were back to working on the worksheet. Thank God. He could always count on medicine to take his mind off of more disconcerting matters.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, as McCoy quietly cooked himself some chicken and vegetables, he contemplated his stay at Starfleet.

 

He was only three weeks in.

 

Three weeks into what was likely going to become three years, if all went well.

 

He had no idea what was to come, and he still didn’t have a clear idea as to how he got there.

 

The revelation that he was an officially recommended student was troubling. Not knowing who gave him the free ride into the most prestigious institution was sitting wrong within him. It just didn’t feel right to have been given a such an opportunity without being able to express an inch of gratitude. Because really, he _was_ grateful.

 

Regardless of how exhaustive everything had been so far, McCoy wasn’t so self-centered that he couldn’t appreciate the chance he’d been given. Even if it didn’t include Joanna.

 

McCoy scooped his dinner onto the one plate he owned, and settled himself on the small couch with his textbooks and study notes spread out around him. He placed his warm plate of chicken in his lap and, as he paged through the chapter with the night’s assigned reading for Medicine, his mind once again wandered to officially recommended students.

 

But for the first time since learning of the program’s existence, his thoughts didn’t focus so much on himself, but rather on James Kirk.

 

His group in Medicine had suggested that Jim was officially recommended. And as he thought back on the moment they met, back on the shuttle, it made sense. He and Jim were the only ones on that ship that had been without a uniform. And Jim had that… _feeling_ to him.

 

McCoy had almost forgotten about it. But he suddenly remembered that when they first met, McCoy had gotten the distinct impression of Jim being a fellow misfit. Someone out of place, with no other options, on their very last leg. Someone with nowhere else to go.

 

He bit down on a forkful of chicken, and wondered for the first time where Jim had been before Starfleet.

 

* * *

 

McCoy couldn’t help but frown as they packed up their stuff.

 

They had spent the last half of Diplomacy discussing the final project, in regards to what their professor expected to see and how far along they should already be. And considering that their first draft introductory pages were due at the beginning of the next Diplomacy class, McCoy wasn’t exactly confident with his progress. He hadn’t received any help from Jim since that first suggestion, but neither had McCoy asked for it.

 

Well, it was only Thursday. They wouldn’t be meeting again until Tuesday, which meant McCoy had practically all weekend to work on the writing. And plus, the day’s hospital shift wouldn’t begin for another two hours, which meant McCoy could use that time at the library as he usually did.

 

“Hey, Bones.”

 

Jim was already all packed up and was leaning against the nearest chair, head tilted as he stared at McCoy. The doctor in question ticked up a brow as a way to ask, ‘what’s up?’

 

“Are you doing anything right now?” Jim asked, adjusting his bag strap.

 

McCoy hesitated. What did Jim want him for? “I was going to head to the library.”

 

Jim’s eyes lit up, though it was almost unnoticeable. “To work on the project?”

 

“Ah, yeah.” Was Jim… Was Jim going to ask to join him? Was he going to _help?_

 

Jim grinned that grin of his that seemed so popular with the ladies and gentlemen. “Mind if I come with? I haven’t seen anything that you’ve done so far, and I wanna make sure it’s up to my standards.”

 

Cheeky bastard. McCoy glared at him, at the implication that his own academic work could be anything less than exemplary. “You can come with,” McCoy huffed, “if you actually help and don’t use it as an opportunity to scout out warm bodies.”

 

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. “Do you just hate fun or something?” he mumbled.

 

As McCoy led them out of the classroom, he replied, “Just the thought of fun makes me want to hurl.”

 

From behind him, he could hear Jim whisper, “I knew it.”

 

* * *

 

“But would that be an example of good diplomacy, or just appeasement?” Jim mumbled around the end of his pen.

 

McCoy raised a brow at his textbook. “They’re more or less the same thing, right?”

 

“Not at all,” Jim huffed. “There’s more of a power imbalance when appeasement is a factor. It would be an example of good diplomacy if that representative found an effective way to satisfy both parties, but most importantly, doing it without handing all of their cards over to the other side. But, look, most of the interaction involved them accepting the Tellarites’ conditions, without setting any for the Tellarites in turn. It was all give and no take.”

 

“Hn,” McCoy grunted, as he typed out what Jim had just said.

 

They’d already been in the library for almost an hour and a half, and they’d made some _serious_ progress on the project. It turned out, Jim was actually a bigger help than McCoy could’ve hoped.

 

Diplomacy seemed to come naturally to the kid. He was really good at detecting underlying intentions when observing footage of diplomatic missions, and he was _especially_ good at identifying people who had sinister ulterior motives before they showed their true colors.

 

He had a natural sense of it, when working with both visual examples and written. And it seemed he was pretty good at reading not just humans, but almost every species they were observing. Or at least the ones he had prior knowledge of.

 

“Hey”, McCoy muttered as he finished typing out the last of the sentence. “Are you going into the command track?”

 

Jim paused, long enough that McCoy glanced up at him. The kid was writing something down on the notepad in his lap, eyes focused and face passive. “Something like that,” he finally responded.

 

McCoy hummed in acknowledgement, and started thumbing through one of the other diplomacy books they grabbed. “Well, you should.” He hesitated. “You’re good at this,” he added, quieter.

 

There was nothing but the sound of turning pages for a moment, until the silence was broken by a single utterance of, “Bones.”

 

McCoy glanced up in response to the nickname, a request not to be called such a thing on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped at the grin Jim was giving him. It was all feral-toothed and wild-eyed, the kind of look a predator would give its prey. Sweat broke out on the back of McCoy’s neck.

 

Jim leaned forward, folding himself over his own lap to close the distance between he and McCoy. “Are you hitting on me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

 

 _"Fuck off,"_  McCoy bit out, leaning back into his own chair, as far from Jim as he could manage. Fuck, he almost let himself forget that Jim was a complete _bonehead_ , with nothing but sex and _groping_ on his mind.

 

Jim let out a bright laugh. “Oh, Bones, you look so cute when you blush.”

 

“Fuck you, I’m not fucking _cute_ ,” McCoy growled. The little fucking prick, he was doing this on purpose. He _knew_ he was getting a rise out of McCoy. It was pissing him off.

 

“Wow, doctor, you have such a dirty mouth,” Jim said wistfully, and stared pointedly at McCoy’s lips. “I can’t help but wonder exactly how _dirty_ you can be."

 

That was it, McCoy couldn’t take much more of this goading. “Jim, you little shit, if you don’t shut your Goddamn mouth then I’m going to take one of these textbooks and shove it up your—”

 

“Leonard?”

 

Whatever self-damning thing McCoy was about to let himself say died softly in his throat, as he turned in the direction the familiar voice had come from.

 

It was Vera, one of his classmates from the University of Mississippi. He hadn’t seen her since a few days after they’d graduated, years ago. “Vera!”

 

“It is you!” She gave him a beautiful grin, and McCoy’s belly swooped low. Not so much in attraction, but more so horror.

 

He had had a massive crush on her in their first few classes together, at least until he had met Jocelyn. Vera had been in the medical program like him, and they would challenge and quiz each other all the time. It helped that they had shared most of their classes together.

 

And she had always been his type. Blonde, blue-eyed, with such luscious lips.

 

Seeing her now, however, instigated nothing but a spike of anxiety and fear in his chest. Fuck, Jocelyn had fucked him up so _bad._ Now just seeing someone that he had once been attracted to, but not even been with, made him feel guilty and sick and worthless.

 

God, Jocelyn _broke_ him. She had made damn sure he couldn’t comfortably feel an intimate feeling ever again.

 

“How are you doing?” Vera asked as she stepped up to his table. “Last I saw you, you were heading to Georgia. What are you doing here?”

 

“Ah, well…” McCoy didn’t want to bring up Jocelyn’s name, didn’t want to explain that his life and soul had been shattered and burned. “I, uh, figured I could use a change of pace.”

 

She laughed softly. “I’ll say. I never would’ve thought you’d come _here_. I think I distinctly remember you denouncing this place as ‘the school where adrenaline junkies go to ride around in flying death traps in space, also known as the hell hole of disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence’.”

 

McCoy shrugged, but before he could respond Jim cut in. “Wow, Bones. Is that your catchphrase or something? How many years have you been using that line?”

 

McCoy glared at Jim, both for saying something that was borderline true and for calling him ‘Bones’ again. And he was still mad about the teasing Vera had conveniently interrupted.

 

“Hi,” Vera interjected, restricting McCoy once again from responding. She held out her hand to Jim, all jovial and civil. She always had been so nice. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Vera Floyd.”

 

Jim took her hand and gave her _the_ smile, the one that always got everyone swooning. “Jim,” he replied.

 

...Huh?

 

 _Just_ Jim?

 

McCoy stared in confusion at the way Jim omitted his last name, but couldn’t ask about it as Vera continued talking. “How long have you known Len?”

 

Shit, again with _that_ nickname. Jocelyn used to always call him that. McCoy was starting to seriously prefer ‘Bones’. Just anything to get away from _Len_.

 

“Not long,” Jim replied. “Though it feels like we’ve known each other _forever_. We’re best friends.”

 

Vera released a light laugh. “Really? _Len?_ I’ve never known him to make friends so fast.”

 

“We’re not friends,” McCoy grumbled. “We have to work together on a project. That’s it. I wouldn’t spend more than ten seconds with this brat if I didn’t have to.”

 

“Ah, I see. That sounds right,” Vera nodded. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to your project. I hope I’ll see you around more.”

 

“Yeah, you too,” McCoy responded, and gave a small wave as she walked away.

 

McCoy watched Vera’s retreating figure, chest hurting at all of the unexpected memories her presence brought on, and tried to choke down invasive thoughts of Jocelyn.

 

“So, she was kind of cute. Don’t you think, _Len?_ ”

 

McCoy scowled at Jim. “Don’t call me that,” he muttered, the fire in his voice more defeated than he’d have preferred.

 

Jim blinked once at him, eyes a little wide. Shit, he must have heard it.

 

McCoy had to change the subject before Jim could comment. “Why did you only introduce yourself as Jim?”

 

Jim smirked. “As opposed to what? ‘Jim the Great and Gorgeous’?”

 

Smart ass. “As opposed to Jim Kirk.”

 

Although McCoy was asking as a way to change the subject, he was genuinely curious. Most famous people he'd known, or kids of famous people, wouldn't hesitate to use their full name and reap the benefits that their moniker brought on.

 

And Jim, being the little attention-whore that he was, didn't seem like the type to want to miss a single opportunity to use his dad's name.

 

“Ah,” Jim breathed, and immediately looked down at his notes as though they were suddenly interesting. “I don't know. A lot of people recognize it here, more than anywhere else. I'm not used to it catching so much attention.”

 

McCoy frowned. He didn’t think… didn’t even _consider_ that Jim didn’t want people to know who he was, whose son he was. “I thought you liked attention.”

 

He was always making such a fuss, McCoy had assumed it was because he couldn’t get _enough_ attention from those around him. As though his name didn’t suffice, as though he wanted to be constantly seen and adored, or at least constantly talked about.

 

Why else would he constantly be egging people on? And flirting? Surely, his name had served as a surefire method to get at least a _few_ bed-mates.

 

“Well, sure I do,” Jim confessed, tilting his head with a frown as he shuffled through his notes. “But even Jim Kirk has his limits.”

 

McCoy wasn’t sure how to respond.

 

Not only was Jim not as much of a slut for attention as he had thought, but the kid even admitted to not being able to withstand too much scrutiny. That was incredibly unusual. Most famous children _basked_ in attention, and McCoy had thought for sure that Jim was the same way.

 

But it seemed he wasn’t.

 

Or maybe, he had just been receiving more attention than he had anticipated.

 

But more than anything, McCoy was astounded that Jim would admit to this minor weakness to _him._ Jim seemed like the type to want to seem invincible to everyone, but most of all to those he didn’t exactly get along with. And the two of them didn’t _really_ get along.

 

“The Treaty of Alpha Cygnus IX.”

 

McCoy’s eyes snapped to Jim. “What?” What was the kid talking about now?

 

“The Treaty of Alpha Cygnus IX,” Jim repeated, scrolling through his PADD. “If we want to talk good diplomacy, few species have it down better than Vulcans. Ambassador Sarek is one of the best diplomats out there right now, so I suggest we use this as one of our good examples.”

 

As Jim handed his PADD over to McCoy, which was displaying all of the important and relevant information on the treaty, McCoy couldn’t help but note how Jim had deftly changed the subject back to the homework.

 

It felt eerily like something McCoy himself would do as a form of evasion.

 

* * *

 

McCoy and Jim found time to work on the project once more Saturday morning and Sunday evening, but they didn’t have much more time than that. Mainly due to the fact that McCoy had to study for the Federation Law exam (while Jim, apparently, did not).

 

They did manage to complete a coherent first draft, however. McCoy was proud of them.

 

It seemed when push came to shove, he could almost comfortably rely on Jim to help complete the task at hand. Which was good, because if the kid seriously wanted to go through with the command track, he was going to have to be reliable.

 

“Alright, now that everyone’s finished with the exam, I’ll have it graded right now,” their Federation Law teacher said. “Just give the computer a few minutes, and I’ll put the score up. After that, we’re going to start on our next unit.”

 

McCoy leaned into his chair with a heavy sigh. The exam took two hours, which left them with a half hour to get started on the next unit. “Thank God that’s all over with.” He listened to the bustling excitement of the students around him, as they discussed the questions they encountered and how well they may have done.

 

Surprisingly, however, there was an unusual silence to McCoy’s right.

 

He glanced over at Jim, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.

 

The kid had his head propped up on one hand, and was picking idly at the edge of his desk. Oh. The exam must have been harder than he had expected.

 

“I bet you wish you’d taken notes now, huh?” McCoy grunted.

 

Jim blinked hard and turned to him, and slowly his eyes filled with awareness. “Huh? Oh, no. I did fine.”

 

“Oh, really.” McCoy raised his brow, and tilted his chin at Jim. “Then why are you moping?”

 

A soft snort blew from Jim’s nostrils, in a sad mimic of a laugh. “I’m not moping. Just thinking.”

 

“Is that right.” McCoy wanted to press further, but for once, the kid didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk.

 

Which was a _first_.

 

What the hell. McCoy didn’t care either way. In fact, he should have found the rare opportunity of a non-talkative Jim to be a gift from the heavens.

 

“Alright, I’m putting your scores up now,” their teacher announced, before the main screen was overtaken by a list of their names and scores, ordered from highest to lowest.

 

And, by some Goddamn _miracle_ , Jim’s name was at the very top. A solid 100% score.

 

The next highest score beneath him was 96%, and there were only two other grades in the 90 percentile range after that—which made sense, because that exam had been fucking _hard._

 

“What the fuck?” McCoy whispered, at the same time that all of the other students in the class suddenly rushed Jim’s desk.

 

There was a cacophony of noise, but what McCoy was hearing the most of was, “How did you get so good of a score?”

 

And that was what _he_ wanted to know.

 

He stared at Jim, looking for any signs of that usual cockiness or some hint that he had cheated, stolen the teacher’s grading rubric, was hiding some sheet with all of the answers, just _something._

 

But all he was seeing was a wide-eyed Jim, who had forced an insincere smile onto his lips as he tried to address all of the people and questions that were surrounding him. One of the students suddenly declared, "You don't even take notes!"

 

“Like I said,” Jim chuckled, in a way that almost sounded nervous. “I don’t need them.”

 

And McCoy wanted to call bullshit. Really, he did.

 

But… he couldn’t help but think back on how efficient Jim’s work ethic had been over the weekend, how much he unexpectedly understood and how much information seemed to be maintained within that head of his. And if he had such a deep understanding of diplomacy, maybe it wouldn’t be so far-fetched for him to have a natural understanding of federation law, as well.

 

Maybe Jim really was as smart as he had been claiming.

 

But what McCoy was finding really interesting… was how Jim wasn’t glowing under all of the attention his apparent smarts had garnered. He seemed smaller under the focus of his classmates, like a deer caught in the headlights. He appeared wholly unprepared to have done as well as he did, and how that changed his appearance in the perceptions of fellow students.

 

“Alright, class, get back to your seats.” The other students settled back to their seats at the teacher’s call, and a relative quiet descended back over the class.

 

With the attention off of him, Jim seemed even smaller than he had before. He visibly swallowed, and McCoy had difficulty taking his eyes off of the strangely behaving Kirk until the teacher put up the first slide of their new unit.

 

“Okay, now today we’re going to move on to the most recent and harshest example of Federation Law being broken,” she said. “Tarsus IV. I imagine most of you were alive at the time of this event, so I’m sure this will be easier for you all to follow.”

 

McCoy could definitely remember the whole Tarsus Massacre. God, it had been such a ghastly tragedy. He remembered seeing it on the news, back when he was just turning twenty. The whole thing really wasn’t that long ago.

 

This was going to be an interesting unit to cover, he was sure. The most information he had gotten about it had been the public info that had been released at the time—which wasn't very much at all. The specifics of the incident were very hush-hush. He was sure to learn more in the Federation, it being a disaster particular to them and all.

 

“Now, I hold this unit at this particular time of year,” the teacher said, “for a very special reason. Can anyone guess why?” Her eyes scanned the rows of students, until she called on someone at the back.

 

“It’s the anniversary, isn’t it?” the student responded.

 

“That’s exactly right.” She changed the slide, which had a photo of one of the many mass graves that had been discovered on the planet. McCoy could see children among the bodies, and his throat closed up against his will. His mind immediately went to Joanna. “Although the Federation didn’t discover the massacre until early October of 2246, the initial massacre occurred in September of 2245. Now, who can guess why it took so long for the massacre to be discovered?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

The lesson was abruptly interrupted, by an officer at the classroom’s door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Cadet Kirk has been requested immediately.”

 

Kirk?

 

McCoy glanced at Jim, who had turned pale and whose neck was dotted with sweat. His ears were bright red and his eyes pink.

 

Shit, was he in trouble? He definitely appeared to be in a panic. McCoy wondered what the kid could have possibly done as Jim shakily gathered his stuff. Maybe he actually _had_ cheated on the test, and Starfleet wasn’t wasting any time in gathering him up.

 

Jim stepped to the ground floor of the class on unsteady legs, spoke some brief words with the teacher, followed the officer out, and then he was gone.

 

It was so strange and so unexpected, that McCoy couldn’t help but stare at the closed door even a few minutes after the teacher started her lesson back up. However, once she started to go over the medical experiments the doctors on Tarsus had conducted, McCoy’s attention was drawn back in.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty long... but oh well! More writing, more reading. This one took a while to get out, because there were a few different parts where I had to do some research, and then there were other scenes that had been completely unplanned. Fitting them in was a bit of a struggle, as I had some difficulty bleeding into the next scene. ( which is why some of these scenes are super short hahaha >o>; )
> 
> Also I made Tellarites up and acthelatyne isn't real.
> 
> Also! The treaty that involves Sarek is real. I checked, and made sure it happened before Jim or McCoy got their grubby hands on the Enterprise. Gotta keep things realistic and consistent ;)


	6. Year One, Semester One; ACT II, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy gets more glimpses of who Jim may be, and the kid somehow gets him to go to a bar.

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT II**

**_Part 2 of 3_**

 

McCoy only had a half hour before his next class, which didn’t leave him with much time to do anything other than grab a lunch.

 

He was sat at one of the tables outside of the common area. Winter wasn’t quite upon them yet, so he was trying to take what he could from the good weather while it was available. He chewed on his salad pensively, and ran that day’s class over in his head.

 

Tarsus was so fucked up.

 

He knew that already, of course. Everyone did. But he hadn’t realized exactly _how_ bad some of it had been. He had never known that the masses _weren’t_ all killed at once, but rather in a stream of firing squads or public executions.

 

Nor had he known that pockets of survivors had tried to live throughout the colony’s outskirts, of which most ended up being killed anyway. The official report said that by the time Starfleet showed up, less than a hundred of the chosen 4,000 had survived. Which was practically a miracle in and of itself, considering the constant patrols by Kodos’s men and the lack of supplies for anyone who tried to escape.

 

He could barely comprehend the horror those people had experienced in their last moments. For most of the colonists, their deaths were drawn out for days, or weeks. For some, even months.

 

McCoy shook his head, relieved that Tarsus was in the past. He was especially relieved that he never knew anyone who had been there.

 

God, how heartbreaking would _that_ be?

 

His salad was just about finished, so he started to gather up his stuff. As he was tossing out his trash, he looked up at the main pathway in time to see Jim heading eastward. McCoy couldn’t see much of him, but the kid looked pale and sweaty.

 

Was he sick?

 

Before he could even process it, McCoy’s doctor instincts kicked in and prompted him to follow after Jim. “Hey,” he called, once he was near enough.

 

Jim turned to him, blinking a lot as he did so. His eyes were bloodshot.

 

“Hey,” McCoy repeated, suddenly unsure as to why he had even trotted after him. He didn’t know Jim. Didn’t particularly _like_ Jim. But his urge to help and heal didn’t discriminate. “You feeling alright?”

 

Jim blinked at him once more, and his blue eyes seemed a little clearer than when McCoy had first called out to him. “What?”

 

McCoy motioned weakly at the sweat on Jim’s face. “You’re sweating. You have a fever?”

 

“Oh,” Jim breathed, before wiping a hand across his face, a disgruntled frown pouting his lips. “Oh, no. I’m fine. I got hit by a sprinkler.” He huffed at his hand and shook the moisture off. “Nothing wrong with me.” He sent a slight smile McCoy’s way. “Physically, at least.”

 

McCoy squinted in mild confusion at that comment, but just accepted that Jim was probably one of those people who joked about his own mental state, regardless of how mentally stable he actually was. “Right. Well, hey, why’d you have to leave class today? Are you in trouble?”

 

Jim shook his head. “Nah, Pike just wanted me for something.”

 

Pike? So… it seemed Jim _was_ on good terms with the officer. Maybe Pike was the one who had recommended Jim after all. An urge to ask Jim about his relationship with the famous captain was on the tip of McCoy’s tongue, but… he didn’t _really_ care. It didn’t matter to him who had recommended Jim.

 

“What’d he want you for?” McCoy asked instead.

 

Jim released a deep sigh, his eyes trained on the ground. “Just command track stuff. He’s gonna need me for the next couple of weeks during the same time as Federation Law, so I’m going to have to miss this unit.”

 

“Oh,” McCoy frowned. “That’s a shame. For you, I mean. This is a really interesting unit.”

 

Jim let out a soft snort.

 

 _Jesus._ How could he be so insensitive? Tarsus wasn’t something to snort at. “I’m serious,” McCoy added, frown growing more prominent.

 

“I'm sure you are,” Jim responded, while he closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead.

 

McCoy shook his head at him. “As boring as I'm sure tragedies like this are to you, I'd like you to keep in mind that it's an important part of our history. You can't act like Tarsus isn’t interesting or important.”

 

Jim, his eyes still closed, raised his hands while a crooked smile notched itself in place. “Look, I never said it wasn't,” he said, a chuckle in his voice.

 

“You just don’t care,” McCoy clarified.

 

And why would he? Though Jim admittedly wasn’t as bad as other child celebrities, he was still a self-centered bastard.

 

Jim’s bloodshot eyes locked onto McCoy briefly, before he gave a stiff shrug. “I just don’t feel like it’s worth talking about.”

 

McCoy couldn’t _believe_ the gall Jim had. How could he say such a thing? How could he think a tragedy like Tarsus could just be swept under a rug and not seriously and repeatedly talked about? The ignorance of such events was what allowed them to continue to happen. If they couldn’t learn from their history, then they could never become better.

 

McCoy shook his head at Jim while disgust and disappointment warred in his gut. “Your attitude is the exact reason why things like this happen. Your lack of empathy isn’t going to help you, Jim, you can’t be going through life—can’t be going into _Starfleet—_ without feeling even just a twinge of sympathy for people who are victims of tragedies.”

 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t sympathetic,” Jim grumbled lowly.

 

“Then why don’t you acknowledge Tarsus as something worth being talked about? I mean, if we don’t talk about this kind of thing, then it’s going to happen again. Maybe not something exactly like it, but if we never address our mistakes then we can never learn from them. You have to care about these things, Jim, or at least _act_ like you care!”

 

“Well what the fuck do you _fucking_ want from me?” Jim snapped.

 

McCoy blinked at him, startled.

 

Jim continued, his blue eyes sharp and face tight. “What do you want me to fucking say? Should I just crumple to the floor in a heap of noisy sobs, crying over people who died almost ten years ago? Who would that fucking help? Not me, and _not_ them. There’s no point in discussing the details of what happened, no point in going over the mutilation and torture if it’s not going to stop it from happening again in the future.”

 

McCoy swallowed unevenly. The kid _did_ kind of have a point. But before he could say anything, Jim continued.

 

“Shouldn’t just a simple acknowledgement of ‘Oh, Tarsus was bad, let’s not do that again’, be enough? I mean, _Jesus_ , how is curling up with a good book about the skinnings and scalpings of the _kids_ going to stop men like Kodos from getting into power again? Why the hell are we focusing more on the mutilation than on what sort of toxic idealizations could have harbored someone like Kodos for as long as it did? Why aren’t we more concerned that someone with those sorts of ideas was able to get to the point of power that he did? I’m tired as hell with this shit, tired of everyone studying it like it’s fun, and I—” Jim cut himself off to press a hand to his forehead. “God, look, talking about this shit on a moral high ground isn’t at the top of my fucking list right now, alright?”

 

“Alright,” McCoy conceded, raising a placating hand.

 

He’d never seen Jim angry before. McCoy didn’t know what to say. Not only because Jim’s change in character was so jarring, but because Jim’s thoughts on the matter of Tarsus didn’t feel uncaring or ignorant. In fact, McCoy found himself agreeing with a lot of what Jim had said.

 

And yet, Jim’s outburst was extremely emotionally charged. More so than what made sense for even a heated discussion of a class topic. McCoy couldn’t help but wonder if there was another underlying cause to Jim’s apparent agitation.

 

As Jim panted unevenly, McCoy noticed how tightly wound Jim really was. He was holding himself very rigidly, and sweat was starting to collect on his brow again.

 

Then he remembered why he had stopped Jim in the first place. Maybe Jim really _was_ sick. More than McCoy had initially suspected.

 

McCoy suddenly felt like a massive douche. He hadn’t meant for the conversation to devolve into something that could agitate an already ill person, and McCoy realized that that was entirely his own fault. If Jim was sick, it would make sense for him to not want to have too deep of a conversation right now. “You sure you’re feeling alright?” McCoy asked quietly, unsure of what else to say.

 

Jim rubbed his hands over his face again, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah. Fuck.”

 

McCoy huffed. “I don’t know how you could think that sounded convincing.”

 

Jim didn’t respond and only shrugged tiredly. He looked pathetic.

 

“Hey,” McCoy started quietly, “do you need to go to medical?”

 

Jim shook his head. “ _Hell_ no,” Jim replied with a surprising amount of vigor. “I don’t want to go to the fucking nurse, I just want to go to my class. Which I'm late for.”

 

“Do you want someone to walk you there?” McCoy asked.

 

Which, what the hell? Why did he say _that?_ McCoy didn't know what he was thinking, his mouth just moved without him.

 

And based on the look Jim was giving him, he didn't know what McCoy was thinking either. Goddamn it, they weren't even _friends_.

 

Jim parted his lips slowly, while the gaze of his wide eyes didn't waver. “Are you offering, Bones?”

 

Fuck. It wasn’t like he could back out now. McCoy scowled to the side and refused to let himself sigh. “Yeah, sure.” That came out a little too unwilling, so he tried again. “Yes.”

 

Jim’s pink eyes drifted downwards and he visibly swallowed. He looked small and defeated, and he really should have been heading home and not to class if he was so sick. But Jim’s gaze flicked back up to McCoy and just like that, his vulnerable expression was gone and instead replaced by a solid smirk. “Well, who am I to turn away the kind offer of someone as handsome as yourself?” Jim’s smile didn’t reach his eyes at all.

 

It was the most lukewarm flirt Jim had sent McCoy’s way yet. He was _definitely_ sick if he was so far from his A-game.

 

McCoy nodded and exhaled. “Lead the way.”

 

Jim took a second to rub his hand over his face again, before motioning forward. “Alright. It’s that way.”

 

Jim was quiet while they walked. It was unnatural, and it made it hard for McCoy to keep his eyes ahead and off of Jim. His instincts were screaming at him to heal. To steer Jim around, straight to medical. Or at least to a bed where he could rest.

 

It was frustrating and confusing.

 

As much of a help as Jim was being in Diplomacy, McCoy still wasn’t crazy about the kid.

 

But he just… had to help. Wanted Jim to not be sick.

 

McCoy was so focused on his own internal struggle, he wasn’t really paying attention to where they were headed. At least, not until the shadow of one of the campus’s larger buildings shrouded over them.

 

He blinked up at it, not quite comprehending for a second. “Wait, isn’t this the maths building?”

 

As they stomped up the steps, Jim gave a half-hearted, “Good to know your eyes are still working, Bones.”

 

“Why are we here?” McCoy asked, while he held the door to the main hall open for Jim. “Are you taking a math class?”

 

Why would Jim being doing that?

 

Jim had said he was going into command, and the only tracks that had to actively take math classes at the academy were the science and engineering divisions. To be admitted into the academy, it was a given that you were already more than decent at math.

 

So if it wasn’t required for Jim to be taking a math class, why _was_ he?

 

“I mean,” Jim said, tilting his head, “I don’t come in here to watch the paint dry.”

 

“Well, what—what—,” this was so baffling to McCoy, he took a second to find his words. “What class are you taking?”

 

Probably one of the easy ones, just to stay fresh on his maths. Right?

 

They turned a corner and Jim scratched at his neck. “Finite Mathematics.”

 

Finite—Jesus, that sounded complicated as _hell_.

 

“ _You’re_ taking that class?” McCoy asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

 

Jim squinted his eyes at McCoy for a second. “Bones, how stupid do you think I am that I can’t take math?”

 

“No, it’s not that—,” _entirely,_ “—I’m just wondering why you’re taking a math class if you’re in the command track. If it’s not necessary, why do it?”

 

Jim watched his own feet while they walked, before he finally replied. “I just think it’s fun.”

 

What the _hell?_

 

Jim cleared his throat as they came to a stop in front of a large pair of doors. “Alright, this is it.” He glanced at McCoy, his eyes still suspiciously red. He gave a tired looking smile. “Thanks for walking me here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Jim stepped inside of the class, and McCoy was left to stare at the doors to one of the more complicated math classes available at the academy. Only one thought was swirling through his head.

 

How smart _was_ Jim Kirk?

 

First the test results, then the well thought-out opinion on topics like Tarsus, and now fucking _Finite Mathematics._

 

McCoy was seriously starting to wonder how deep the rabbit hole that was Jim Kirk went.

 

* * *

 

McCoy didn’t see Jim again until Diplomacy the next day.

 

Jim was in his usual spot, twirling a pen between his fingers and staring blankly at the front. When he noticed McCoy, he gave a slight smile and acknowledging nod.

 

Hm. He seemed to be doing better than the day before. His color seemed healthier, and even his mood seemed to have improved.

 

McCoy set his bag on the floor and took his seat beside Jim. “Did you go to medical?”

 

Jim scoffed. “What the hell would I do that for?”

 

“I don’t know, because you’re sick and ought to be seen to?” McCoy said, raising a brow.

 

Jim folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his seat. “I’m not sick.”

 

As if. “So you _weren’t_ running around half dead yesterday.”

 

“Nope,” Jim said, popping the ‘p’.

 

McCoy sighed as he got his tablet out. “You do realize I’m a doctor, right?”

 

Jim flapped a hand at him in dismissal, “Shut up, Bones, the teacher’s here.” He sent a mock imploring, wide-eyed gaze at McCoy. “I’m _trying_ to pay attention.”

 

Indignance contorted McCoy’s face, but he couldn’t respond because the teacher started his lecture.

 

Jim didn’t really care about class. The little imp was just deflecting.

 

Oh, well. It wasn’t McCoy’s place to press. Goddamnit, he didn’t care about Jim anyway. He sighed to himself, and started to write down notes as needed. If Jim wanted to let himself get even more sick, then that was his business.

 

Besides, they’d already finished their project’s first draft and would have no trouble turning it in at the end of class, so McCoy didn’t really need to hold onto him. Just so long as Jim didn’t die before their final was due.

 

* * *

 

Tarsus really was fascinating.

 

His conversation with Jim two days before was still sitting in McCoy’s mind, but he couldn’t help _some_ level of morbid curiosity in regards to what had happened on Tarsus IV. There was an inkling of guilt for being able to go over everything so objectively, but he hadn’t been there. Neither did he know anyone who was a victim of the event.

 

So it was pretty impersonal for him to study it, just like it was for everyone else.

 

Of course, that didn’t mean he was having _no_ emotional reaction to the information he was learning. The unit was going to last them about four weeks, and already McCoy could barely comprehend the inhumanities they’d gone over.

 

What was baffling him the most was what was done to the _kids._

 

Since there wasn’t just one but multiple waves of executions, a lot of kids had been initially missed. It was such a horrific concept.

 

To be a child and to witness the murder of your family, only to struggle to not be killed yourself for days, or weeks, or _months_. The textbook said there had been a few pockets of kids that tried to survive on their own, ages ranging from five to fourteen.

 

Joanna was already six.

 

To think that kids just like her had been put through that… It made McCoy sick to his stomach.

 

As if the idea of children trying to fend for themselves in the middle of a famine—living out of caves and holes—wasn’t bad enough, then what was done to the kids that _had_ been caught was so much worse.

 

At first, kids that were caught were killed more or less right away. But as the months dragged on, and resources dwindled and the situation became more dire, the mental stability of those still in power obviously went to hell.

 

That was all McCoy could figure, because there was no way a sane person would starve and torture a thirteen year old for weeks on end.

 

They hadn’t quite gotten to the Tarsus 9 yet, but they took a quick detour to discuss how five of the Tarsus 9 had been kids. _Children._

 

Five kids that were in the clutches of Kodos and his men for _weeks_ , left to the mercy of their captors. Apparently the five of them hadn’t all originated from the same group of survivors, and had actually been captured along with others from their own groups.

 

But by the time Starfleet had arrived, those five kids were the only ones that had survived.

 

There was one kid in particular that was notable. He was only officially referred to as Survivor T, so as to keep the person’s identity hidden. But apparently Kodos had fixated on him more than the other Tarsus 9. They had performed experiments on him, the majority of them meant to test his limits. Meant to bring him to the brink of death, and then pull him back at the last minute.

 

What sickened McCoy the most was that Survivor T had been fucking _thirteen._

 

And what’s more, the room that the Starfleet officers had found him in was full of dead kids. He and two of the other Tarsus 9 were the only living beings in the cell, and they were surrounded by their rotting friends.

 

McCoy could not fathom how anybody could survive that.

 

If Survivor T was still around, McCoy couldn’t even imagine what sort of state he could be in. He was probably taking lots of counseling, and probably had been since his return from Tarsus. It would be completely understandable if Survivor T was in a mental health facility.

 

For fuck’s sake, the amount of trauma the kid had likely undergone was nigh incomprehensible.

 

Kodos was a sick fucking bastard.

 

McCoy sighed lowly as the teacher changed the slide, and glanced at the empty seat to his right.

 

If Jim had stuff he had to do with Pike, then it couldn’t be helped. But it really was a shame that he was missing such an important unit. No matter how much Jim probably thought he knew about Tarsus, McCoy was sure he would be learning so much more if he had been able to stay in the class.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, now I know there are only three minutes left of class, but don’t leave just yet,” their Diplomacy teacher said. “You all turned in your first drafts on Tuesday, and I’ve already gone through and graded all of them. If you’ll just wait a moment, I’ll get your grades back to you.”

 

McCoy idly scribbled a series of lines on the corner of his PADD's notebook screen. He glanced at Jim beside him. “How do you think we did?”

 

Jim shrugged, before he leaned back in his seat and placed his boots on his desk.

 

McCoy sighed. Did Jim always have to be so Goddamn irreverent? He wanted to comment on how their desks were not footrests, but Jim spoke up before he could.

 

“Dunno,” he mused. “I’ll bet we did beautifully. Probably got the highest grades in the class.”

 

“Do you ever wonder if you’re a bit _too_ confident?” McCoy scratched out his doodle. “I doubt we did that much better than our classmates. We probably did fine, but ‘best in the class’ seems like a bit of a stretch.”

 

“Wanna make a bet on it?”

 

McCoy flicked his gaze towards Jim. The kid had a dangerous glint in his eye, even though he wasn’t quite smiling. To say McCoy hesitated would be an understatement. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“Nothing dangerous,” Jim murmured, rolling his eyes. “But if we got the best grade in the class, then we ought to drink on it. Come to the bar with me.”

 

All of the muscles in McCoy’s back and shoulders tightened until they were stiff. A sparking flame of fear lit up his chest, and he gripped his pen so tight his whole body went rigid. “I don’t do dates,” he ground out.

 

This time, it being Jim wasn’t even the big issue.

 

He just could not— _would not—_ get close to anyone. He couldn’t risk it. There was very little left of his heart as it was.

 

Jim released a very put upon sigh and swung his legs off of his desk, until his feet planted firmly on the floor. “Not a _date,_ you old coot. Just some friendly drinking, that’s all I had in mind.”

 

McCoy’s muscles loosened some, but barely. He continued to stare at Jim warily, at least until their PADDs lit up.

 

Their teacher had sent them their graded papers.

 

McCoy and Jim scrolled down the marks their teacher had put on their paper, and by the time he reached the seventh page, McCoy realized that all of the marks were positive. Comments of agreement, or additional suggestion. At the very bottom of their first draft was a 100/100 score.

 

And as he listened in on the reactions of his classmates to their own scores, it was becoming increasingly apparent that a good grade on the assignment was an anomaly. It sounded like very few of their peers even reached a high B.

 

McCoy swallowed nervously.

 

“Oh, shit,” Jim muttered beside him. “Looks like you lost the bet.”

 

“I never agreed in the first place,” McCoy bit out in return.

 

A light punch hit McCoy in the arm, and he glared at the grinning Jim beside him. “C’mon, don’t be such a sourpuss,” Jim chortled. “I know you don't like me, but we work super well together. We don't have to drink to a friendship, but there's no harm in drinking to a working relationship, right?”

 

McCoy blinked at him, a frown firm on his face. “You just want an excuse to drink, don’t you?” Then again, who was _McCoy_ to judge? He hadn’t been drinking much since he started attending the academy, so a couple of glasses of something hard sounded downright heavenly. A heated gust of air blew from his nose. “When were you thinking of going?”

 

Jim gave him a stronger grin than before, one that involved biting his lip and slapping McCoy on the shoulder. “ _That’s_ the spirit, Bones.”

 

* * *

 

As McCoy unlocked the door to his dorm and tossed his bag to the corner, despair swirled in his gut.

 

Yesterday he had agreed to go drinking with Jim. Since it was the weekend, they figured they could head out Friday night without too many repercussions for Saturday. It was 5:45 pm already, McCoy’s shift at the hospital had only finished fifteen minutes prior.

 

He started to work his way out of his scrubs while he toed off his boots.

 

What was he thinking? Honest to God, what was he thinking? _Him,_ going out drinking with _Jim._ This was all so fucking weird. He didn’t even _like_ the kid. Why did he agree to go out? Fuck, he kept telling himself he wasn’t trying to get close to anyone.

 

Obviously that wasn’t quite working out, not if his shifting through his wardrobe was any indication.

 

God. What was he even going to wear? Should he spruce himself up? He wasn’t trying to catch anyone’s attention. But he didn’t want to look like a total sleazebag. McCoy sighed wearily and buried his face in his clean clothes.

 

What was he doing?

 

His PADD suddenly vibrated beside him. He opened it up, realizing he had just received a message.

 

It was an unknown contact. _I’ll be there in 5,_ it read.

 

That had to be Jim.

 

Scowling, McCoy replied, _How did you get my number?_

 

_Don’t worry about it._

 

“‘Don’t worry about it’, he says,” McCoy grumbled. Griping under his breath, McCoy grabbed a simple black long sleeve and a pair of jeans, and hastily changed out of his hospital uniform and instead into his civvies. He grabbed the jacket that he had worn on the shuttle ride to San Fran, and checked himself in his mirror while he put it on.

 

He looked alright. Good, but not like he was trying. As he combed his fingers through his hair, he suddenly recalled something Jim had said to him in their first class together.

 

_“You’re like, a Grade-A babe.”_

 

He stuttered to a halt. Did Jim really think that? The kid had said this wasn’t a date, but… could he have been lying? Did he even _like_ McCoy? The doctor didn’t feel like the two of them got along, and he doubted Jim was as fond him as he occasionally acted.

 

He chewed on his lip nervously. Was this a good idea?

 

A knock sounded at his door. Well. It was too late to start worrying about it now.

 

As he unlocked the coded lock and swung the door open, he was caught off guard by the sight of Jim still wearing his school uniform. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Don’t you have any clothes?”

 

Jim raised his brows in what appeared to be amused surprise. “Bones. Do I _look_ naked to you?”

 

“I’m talking about something other than your reds,” McCoy replied in heavy annoyance, while he gestured in Jim’s general direction.

 

Jim waved a hand in dismissal. “Hey, it's fine. The uniform will make me seem more presentable and respectful. Don’t worry, it'll keep me in line.”

 

McCoy frowned at him dubiously, but conceded. He double checked that his wallet and keys were in his pocket, before he shut his door behind himself and locked it. “Alright,” he sighed. “Lead the way, kid.”

 

* * *

 

Jim had led them to a bar that was about a fifteen minute walk from campus. McCoy hadn’t known of its existence, but now he was glad. Alcohol wasn’t allowed in the campus dorms, but that didn’t mean he had to give up drinking completely. It was good to know there was an establishment that he could easily reach whenever need be.

 

The bar was far from the dingy crawl McCoy had holed himself up in the day before boarding Starfleet’s shuttle. Here, in San Francisco, the place Jim had taken them to was pretty clean. It had a good amount of clientele, but not enough people to make McCoy feel claustrophobic. The lights were comfortably dim, and everything was cast in a warm, orange glow. Even the music wasn’t too loud.

 

He lazily swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand, and he took a careful sip.

 

They hadn’t been there long, maybe thirty minutes, but McCoy was already on his second glass. Jim was on his third. He eyed the kid while he gulped at his chosen poison.

 

It seemed Jim really had something to drink about. But what that could be, McCoy wasn’t sure. Maybe school was taking a harder toll on Jim than anyone suspected.

 

“You’re drinking a lot,” McCoy commented. He would have to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t toe the line with alcohol poisoning. No matter the hour or situation, McCoy would always be a doctor first and foremost.

 

Jim glanced at McCoy, before he took another drink. “You, too. You downed your first glass like it was gonna catch fire if exposed to oxygen too long.”

 

McCoy snorted. “Haven’t had a drink in a while.”

 

Jim smirked at him while he ran his fingers over his glass. “What, like five hours?”

 

McCoy scoffed and shook his head. “I’m not _that_ bad.” Not to say that he hadn’t had phases where he _was_ that bad.

 

The more he didn’t think about the days leading up to and following his divorce, the less shame could find a comfortable perch in his thoughts. The memories from those days had been completely drowned out in the honey glow of cheap Georgian whiskey. But Jim didn’t need to know that.

 

McCoy took another careful swig from his glass, and belatedly noted that a warm body had sidled up beside him. He glanced at the admittedly beautiful woman that seated herself on his other side.

 

She was smiling at him with half-lidded eyes, and a surge of panic pierced McCoy in the gut.

 

“I haven’t seen _you_ here before,” she said, her voice saccharine like too thick syrup.

 

“Well, I’ve never been here before,” he grumbled. He turned away and tried to refocus on his glass, hoping she would read his body language and leave him alone. His heart was pounding unevenly in his chest.

 

“Oh?” A delicate hand was placed on his arm, and his muscles stiffened until he felt like he was going to break. “Are you new around here?” she asked. “Would you… like someone to show you around?”

 

McCoy tried to control his breathing. _Fuck_ , he was just being hit on, why did it feel like someone was pressing a gun to his head? “No, thank you,” he ground out, his words a deep rumble from his tight chest.

 

He could feel sweat breaking out on his neck. His pulse was jumping wildly through his veins, and he had to place his glass on the counter lest he drop it. He was starting to shake.

 

“You’re wound pretty tight,” she purred. “Seems like it would do you some good to ease that tension.” She leaned in closer, and McCoy forgot how to breathe. “I could help you with that, if you’d like.”

 

Another hand, larger and warmer, suddenly grabbed the wrist on the same arm that the woman was hanging off of. McCoy glanced at Jim, eyes wide in a silent question as to why Jim had suddenly grabbed him.

 

But Jim wasn’t looking at him, and was instead smiling sweetly at the woman that was hanging off of McCoy. “Sorry to interrupt, but he and I are here on business,” Jim said, voice jovial and light. His grip on McCoy’s wrist was tight.

 

Her hand slid off of McCoy’s arm, and the doctor’s strained heart continued to beat itself into a panic.

 

Jim continued to grin at her, gave her a quick wink, and said, “I promise, though, you’re too gorgeous to give up here. Keep looking around, you’ll find someone even more worth your while tonight.”

 

His brief comment on her appearance seemed to have bolstered her mood, but McCoy couldn’t tell for sure. He couldn’t even look at her. Jim’s interruption was apparently enough, however, because not long after McCoy could feel her presence disappear to head elsewhere.

 

Once she was gone, Jim immediately released McCoy.

 

The doctor panted unsteady gusts of air that could almost be considered breaths. Fuck. _Fuck._ God, Jocelyn had fucked him up so much worse than he thought. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to calm his breathing.

 

“I knew you’d had a bad break up,” Jim murmured thoughtfully. “I didn’t realize it was bad enough to give you PTSD.”

 

McCoy couldn’t open his eyes to look at him. He should have realized sooner that his aversion to intimacy was more than just wanting to keep to himself. God, Jim was right. How did he not realize sooner that his relationship with Jocelyn had given him fucking PTSD?

 

He had been abused. He knew that, though he didn’t like to acknowledge it often. But whether or not he acknowledged it didn’t change the fact that it happened.

 

Jocelyn had mentally and emotionally abused him. He was only able to see it after they’d broken it off, but there was no denying that the way she treated him—the things she called him—was abusive. Abuse often created trauma, no matter who you were or how old you were. McCoy should have known he was no exception.

 

He exhaled shakily and picked his glass of whiskey back up, before downing it one gulp. Still not looking at Jim, he rose from his seat. “I’m going back,” he croaked. He couldn’t be there anymore. He couldn’t risk being hit on again.

 

“Hey, wait!” Jim spun towards him in indignance and grabbed McCoy’s arm. “You can’t leave yet, we just got here!”

 

“Jim, I just…” McCoy choked on the words, but he forced himself to continue. “I just can’t do this right now.”

 

“Wait, hold on, don’t leave,” Jim insisted. “Seriously, I wanted to talk about school stuff with you. I know your past relationship was bad, but don’t worry about that right now, alright?”

 

McCoy glanced at Jim out of the corner of his eye. That wasn’t why Jim had brought him there. McCoy had studied psychology enough to notice that Jim was just trying to distract him. A need to resist built up in him and he tried to weakly pull his arm from Jim’s grasp. “If you wanted to talk about classwork, we could have done that elsewhere. Not fucking here.”

 

Jim sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted, but he continued to gently tug Bones back to his seat. “But you seriously need to get out more. It’s gotta be kind of suffocating to just go to your dorm and class and hospital, and never anywhere else, right?” He did kind of have a point. “You gotta let yourself get out a little, or else you really are gonna die a lonely old man,” Jim finished.

 

Bones felt defeated. Tired. The rushing adrenaline from the encounter was starting to slow in his body, and the sound of another glass of whiskey sounded more promising than his bed back in his dorm.

 

“If you’d like,” Jim added, “we can move to a booth. We’re less likely to be interrupted if we’re in the back corner.”

 

* * *

 

They didn’t find a booth, but they did find a seat at a table that was a little farther from the bar. It took McCoy a while to calm down, but multiple spirits coursing through his body definitely helped. They’d been there long enough, McCoy had long lost track of time. He could only guess that they were already well past midnight.

 

“It just, it doesn’t make any sense,” McCoy continued, his voice slurring a little.

 

“Sure it does,” Jim replied, tilting his chair back. “I’m bored, and you’re funny.”

 

“But I can’t be the _only_ funny person around here. Seriously, why—why—” McCoy cut himself off to plant his elbows on the table. “Why spend so much time hanging around with _me?_ Why not people your own age?”

 

“ _Jesus_ , Bones, it’s not like you’re ancient or something.” Jim tipped his head back so he was facing the ceiling as he replied. “Besides, everyone else here is younger than me, too. Most of them are, like, eighteen. I’m twenty-two, dude.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m twenty- _e_ _ight,_ ” McCoy replied dejectedly, slouching against his hand. “I’m six years your senior.”

 

Jim tipped a little farther back in his chair, and for a second McCoy thought that he was going to fall over completely. “That’s what makes you interesting,” Jim mumbled. “To be honest, I don’t really _like_ you—”

 

“I don’t like you either,” McCoy interrupted.

 

“—But you’re definitely interesting,” Jim finished. He blinked at the ceiling for a few moments and dabbed his tongue at his lips. “You’re past the age of acting like something you’re not. You feel honest. Everyone else feels like they’re putting on a front so they’ll be liked more, but you feel honest. Hell, you’re one of the only people that has been genuine in their behavior and feelings towards me.”

 

Jim came slamming back into an upright position, all of the legs of his chair back on the floor. He slouched against the table like McCoy was.

 

“You would not believe how many people have been sucking up to me.” Jim shook his head, and his face scrunched up in affrontation. “It’s making me so Goddamn uncomfortable. What do they think I have to offer them? Fame? Glory?” He chuckled sardonically and leaned against the back of his chair again, and added in a whisper, “I have nothing to give.”

 

McCoy eyed him thoughtfully. Jim was… more human than he had thought. Of course he knew Jim was a human, he was a doctor for God’s sake, but… Jim wasn’t as vapid as he had assumed. He sounded so dejected talking about his popularity. Which was the last thing McCoy expected.

 

Jim picked at the edge of the table. “And you…” He paused to swallow back some saliva. “You’re a doctor. I’m not crazy about that. But my gut tells me… my gut tells me that you’re not dangerous.” He stopped moving and stared blankly at the tabletop. “My gut is usually right, but it’s been hard trusting it this time.”

 

McCoy blinked at him in confusion, and a slight stirring of offense swirled in his stomach. What had he done to make Jim think he was dangerous? He was a doctor, damn it. Doctors are _safe._ Didn’t Jim know that?

 

Before he could reply, the sound of a heated argument reached Bones’s ears. He glanced over his shoulder, at the couple that was seated at the table behind theirs.

 

“Please, babe,” the girl pleaded, presumably at her boyfriend. “Don’t raise your voice. Don’t get angry.”

 

“Don’t get angry?” the guy all but shouted. He looked beefy, and like he’d one too many drinks. His volume awareness had obviously been turned off. “How the fuck can you ask me to not get angry? You want me to just act like you _weren’t_ hitting on that guy?”

 

“I wasn’t,” the girl said. She was so much smaller than the man. Worry was starting to build in McCoy’s chest. “Please, sweetheart, please drop it.”

 

“No! I’m not gonna _fucking_ drop it!” The guy was gripping the edge of his table, and it looked like he was getting ready to stand up. “I’m not gonna act like you _aren’t_ being a fucking _slut_ , right in front of my fucking eyes! Why don’t you just hit up every guy in this Goddamn bar if you want to be such a _fucking_ whore?!”

 

“Please,” she pleaded again. Her back was to McCoy, but he could hear the tears in her voice. “Babe, please just drop it. Can we go home?”

 

This time the guy actually did stand up. “Why, so you can just turn around and fuck the next guy you see while I’m asleep? I _love_ you, and this is how you want to fucking treat me?!”

 

McCoy couldn’t take a breath. The argument was laced with the same kind of energy as the arguments he and Jocelyn used to have. Not the same words or exact context, but it was the same feeling. It was making him sick to his stomach.

 

“I bend over backwards doing things for you!” The douchebag continued. “I’ve sacrificed so fucking much for this relationship, and how do you repay me?! By being a worthless fucking _slut!”_

 

That was it. McCoy couldn’t take anymore. He gripped the edge of his table to hoist himself up, but before he could even get to his feet Jim’s voice sounded from right next to him.

 

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” the kid said from besided McCoy’s chair, eyes trained on the couple. “But you’re being a fucking shitwad.” He turned a pleasant smile on the girl who was seated behind McCoy. “He’s really not worth your time. What say you ditch this son of a bitch, hang out with me and my friend here?”

 

“And who the fuck are you?” Shitwad asked, face red and seething. “Are you fucking her too?”

 

“Nope, never met her before in my life,” Jim replied easily. “Doesn’t mean I have to sit by and watch someone with a dick as small as yours take all of your insecurities out on her. Honestly, you might want to seek some help for that. I hear they’ve developed some really nice microscopes to find genitals that are too small for the human eye.”

 

McCoy almost laughed at Jim’s comment, but his mirth was quickly forgotten the moment the big hulk of an asshole lumbered closer to Jim. Without a second thought, McCoy rose from his seat and stood behind the kid.

 

“You wanna say that again, you fucking twink?” Asshole seethed, face all up in Jim’s.

 

Jim shrugged casually. “Sure, if it’ll make life easier for you. I heard small dicks often come with small brains, so I’m not surprised that you can’t comprehend anything on the first go.” Even without looking at Jim’s face, McCoy could just _feel_ Jim’s grin before his next words. “Let me try again. You have,” he poked the guy’s chest, “a tiny dick, and an even tinier brain.”

 

Even drunk, Jim apparently has great reflexes, because he somehow dodged the guy’s meaty fist before McCoy could even register the guy moving. Which was how McCoy managed to catch the brunt of the punch square on his nose.

 

McCoy stumbled back, as stars and a fizzling of static filled McCoy’s head, immediately replaced by a prominent and throbbing _pain._ It was only worsened when his legs knocked against something that threw off his balance, sending him crashing to the floor.

 

His head smacked against the tile and moisture sprang to his eyes. “Fuck!” he yelped and hurried to cradle his nose, just as he could hear Jim shout, “ _Bones!”_

 

Pain ricocheted through McCoy’s head, and all he could do was curl onto his side and try to catch the majority of the blood that was seeping from his nose. Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes, and it was so Goddamn _frustrating._ He had heard that getting clocked on the nose was a surefire way to tear up, but he’d never had to experience it firsthand.

 

The sound of flesh getting smacked drew his attention, and he blinked enough times to clear his vision. He sought out Jim, who was nimbly dodging the hulk’s swings and landing an impressive amount on the guy’s ugly mug.

 

“You _fucker!”_ Jim was yelling. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself!” Without so much as taking a hard hit, Jim landed one solid blow to the guy’s jaw.

 

McCoy could hear the hard clacking of teeth, and the sound was immediately followed by the sight of blood pooling from the guy’s mouth. Oh, he must have bit his tongue. _Serves him right_ , McCoy couldn’t help but think.

 

Jim landed one final blow on the guy’s jaw, before asshole hulk tilted to the side and landed in a heavy heap on the floor. A general quiet had descended over the bar, save for Jim’s ragged breaths and the girl’s quiet sobbing.

 

McCoy allowed himself a moment more to shake off the dizzy feeling being punched had given him. He wiped at his face, but accepted that the blood wasn’t going to stop. He released a tight sigh. Time to get to work.

 

He used the nearest table as leverage and got himself to his feet, and ignored how the room swayed once he was upright. “Call an ambulance,” McCoy ordered, staring at the bartender. “I’m going to tend to him, but there’s only so much I can do without my equipment.”

 

The bartender hesitated.

 

Frustration boiled in McCoy’s chest, and he repeated louder, “Call an ambulance!”

 

Once the bartender scurried off to do as he was told, McCoy blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his head, before he carefully made his way to the unconscious shitwad. He noted that Jim was staring at him as he went, but he would check the kid over after he addressed the most obviously injured person in the room.

 

He knelt beside the hulk, swiped at his own bleeding nose again, before he gingerly took a hold of the guy’s head to assess the damage.

 

It looked like a fractured cheekbone, a fractured jaw, and his tongue had been nearly bitten clean off. _Good,_ he thought for a moment, before he looked up at Jim who was watching him quietly.

 

“Go see if there’s a medkit behind the bar,” McCoy commanded.

 

Jim did as he was told silently, and McCoy would have wondered more about the kid’s silence if it didn’t feel like his fucking head was trying to split itself open. There were still tears that kept trying to drown his eyes, and the blood that was trickling over his lip was starting to itch.

 

God, this was why he shouldn’t go to bars.

 

Jim came back and held the medkit out in front of him.

 

McCoy accepted it with a quiet thanks, took out the tricorder provided and a dingy little dermal regenerator that was also there. The tricorder told him that his initial assessment was right. Fractured eye socket, fractured jaw, nearly severed tongue. There was more damage done across the guy’s face that would soon form a mottling of bruises.

 

He started up the regenerator to more or less fix the guy’s tongue, lest he drown in his own blood.

 

Everyone else was still being awfully quiet, except for the girl. McCoy glanced at Jim, who was still staring silently. “Go comfort her, would you?”

 

As Jim went to go do as he was told, McCoy got to work on the guy’s mouth. Paramedics showed up not long after. They continued what work McCoy had been doing with better equipment, and ushered him to a side table where he could be treated.

 

McCoy felt dazed and tired. He allowed them to use a regenerator on his nose and hypo him to dull the pain. They let him sit at the side while he regained his bearings, but he wasn’t allowed to leave. They were going to have to take a statement.

 

McCoy rubbed at his head in exhaustion. He stayed like that for who knew how long. When he finally opened his eyes, Jim was standing in front of him and holding out a glass of water. As McCoy took it, he whispered, “Thanks.”

 

Jim didn’t respond, and instead just sat in the chair that the medic that treated McCoy had vacated.

 

McCoy raised a brow at him. Why wasn’t he saying anything? “What’s eating you?” McCoy croaked groggily.

 

Jim was watching him contemplatively, his blue eyes almost looked like they were sparkling. “Why did you help him?” he finally asked.

 

The question threw McCoy off guard. He raised his brow and leaned back in his seat, and carefully sipped at the water. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Jim tilted his head. “He was an asshole. He didn’t deserve your pity.”

 

McCoy scoffed through his nostrils while he took another sip. “It wasn’t pity.” He thrummed his fingers against the glass in thought, and maintained eye contact with Jim. “I made an oath. Do no harm.” His eyes drifted downward, back at his glass of water. “Allowing pain to continue is the same as causing it. At least to me.”

 

Jim was still being quiet, so McCoy glanced at him again. Jim was clutching his own glass of water with white-knuckled hands. “Do you really believe that?” His voice sounded hollow. He was probably tired.

 

McCoy squinted at him. “Of course I do. I made an _oath._ I don’t care who it is, whether it’s the sweetest little kid or the worst person I’ve ever met, if someone is in pain then I have to help. It’s my job and I take it damn seriously.” He took a deep sigh, and ignored the dull pulse of pain that still emanated from his nose. “If it is within my power to heal someone or to keep them safe, then I will.”

 

“Doctor,” one of the paramedics called. He glanced at them and they motioned for him to come over.

 

He looked back at Jim, at the way Jim was watching him with slightly wide eyes. “They want a statement," McCoy explained. "Don’t worry, I’m gonna let them know you were acting in self defense. Neither of us will get in trouble.”

 

As McCoy stood and placed his water on the nearest surface, Jim spoke up. “You know, you’re not half bad.” McCoy stared at him, at the genuine twinkle of Jim’s blue eyes. He was smiling softly, almost warily. “For a doctor, I mean.”

 

McCoy didn’t really know what that meant. But it was two in the morning, he got clocked in the face, and this was not at all how he intended to start his weekend. He couldn’t find the energy to look too far into Jim’s words now. As he approached the other medics, he decided he could reflect on it all later.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo baby!! What the hell??
> 
> Don't ask me why this chapter is so long O_O I just had a sudden and major burst of inspiration this morning, and in four hours I wrote 4,667 words! That was more than half of this chapter!! @_@ I dunno how I was able to write so much so suddenly... 
> 
> Anyway! You better believe Jim and Bones are gonna be closer after this.
> 
> Also I haven't been able to proofread this yet, so once I'm on the bus I'll look through this...
> 
> Oh, and here's McCoy's schedule again, for anyone who's curious; https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1Um3iTmZ7ZDqG5FC89LC_c8p1YG4ITu8TMtTqmfACHFE/edit?usp=sharing


	7. Year One, Semester One; ACT II, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Friday night's bar fight make themselves clear.

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT II**

**_Part 3 of 3_ **

 

McCoy spent all of Saturday sleeping off a raging headache. The only times he got up were to use the bathroom, take some painkillers, and check in with Starfleet hospital to let them know he wouldn’t be coming in that night.

 

He couldn’t even bring himself to eat more than toast. His nose throbbed incessantly the whole weekend, and he prayed he’d feel better by Monday morning. He couldn’t afford to miss any class, not at this point in the semester.

 

Besides… Part of him was anxious to see Jim again. The kid had been acting strangely by the time they parted ways Friday night, his expression a little too stiff and his blue eyes alight with… _something._

 

And he’d said that thing.

 

_“You’re not half bad. For a doctor, I mean.”_

 

What the hell was McCoy supposed to take from that?

 

His weekend consisted of him refraining from tossing and turning in his tangled blankets--as unnecessary movement seemed to only worsen his pain--and toiling over dissecting Jim’s actions and words at the bar. Attaining sleep was in dual parts simple and harrowing. Simple because the pain and the pills kept him mostly unconscious, harrowing when his mind wouldn’t let him find rest.

 

What few dreams he had were filled with visions of Jim fighting, alone and out of reach.

 

* * *

 

McCoy took his time getting dressed. He felt infinitely better than he had on Saturday and Sunday, but he knew he’d have to take a few painkillers throughout the day to keep himself going. He was just glad he didn’t have a shift tonight.

 

He studied himself in his mirror as he situated his uniform, and couldn’t help but scowl at his swollen and purple-bruised nose. He had placed an inflammation-strip over the bridge of his nose, but it could only help so much.

 

So what if he’d be walking around looking like a beaten apple? Maybe it would convince some of the more annoying cadets to keep their distance. Give him the image of being tough and unapproachable. He snorted reflexively and winced at the pain.

 

He smoothed his uniform out with one final huff, before grabbing his stuff and heading for the door.

 

* * *

 

McCoy barely made it to class on time. His skin was crawling with pent up agitation, his swollen face having garnered more stares on his walk than he could ever be comfortable with. To his dismay, the staring didn’t abate any upon entering the supposed sanctuary of the classroom.

 

His classmates blatantly eyed him, and he was on the verge of shouting, _Go on, take it all in, keep staring! I just love feeling like an attraction at a sideshow! Get your cameras, take your fill! God forbid any of you keep to yourselves!!_

 

With an exhale toeing the line with a growl, McCoy set his stuff down and dropped into his chair. McCoy was going to make Jim suffer for this one. _Let’s go to a bar!_ Bright fucking idea that was.

 

McCoy eyed the empty seat to his right, a grand speech of heated words he would give Jim collecting on his tongue, and remembered that the kid was still doing stuff with Pike during this class. Oh. Damn. McCoy sighed and carefully scrubbed his hand through his hair.

 

Right.

 

He wouldn’t be seeing Jim again until tomorrow.

 

“Hey.”

 

Startled, McCoy blinked up at Jerome, another cadet in the medical track that sat a few rows back. Jerome placed his stuff on the desk and sat himself in Jim’s usual seat.

 

McCoy raised an imploring brow at him, curious as to why Jerome was sitting himself here. They didn’t really talk, even though they shared a decent number of classes.

 

Jerome leaned toward McCoy, and his voice hushed down conspiratorially. “Is it true what they’re saying? About Kirk?”

 

“What?”

 

The teacher entered the class, calling attention to the board and the lesson.

 

McCoy reeled while he tried to pay attention to the outline for the day’s class. What _about_ Kirk? What did Jerome mean? McCoy glanced at the black kid out of the corner of his eye.

 

Jerome was writing on his PADD, but he kept looking at McCoy.

 

There was a brief lull in the teacher’s talking, and Jerome leaned towards McCoy again. “They’re saying Kirk got into a fight, and that you got caught in it. Is that true?”

 

McCoy side-eyed him again, brow furrowing. “Yes.” Why was their bar escapade running through the rumor mill? It really wasn’t that exciting. Some douche got heated, hit McCoy, and Kirk fought back.

 

It was pretty straightforward and no one died. Why would that be of any interest to anyone?

 

Jerome gave him a wide-eyed stare, curiosity and interest on full display. “Seriously?” The teacher gave a few instructions and Jerome quieted down for a few moments, writing on his PADD as needed. When done, he turned to McCoy again. “So… Kirk did that to you?”

 

What the hell? Was Jerome talking about his nose?

 

McCoy frowned at the kid beside him. “You serious? You mean this?” He gestured lightly at his face, and frowned harder when Jerome nodded in affirmation. “Of course he didn’t do this. What the hell gave you that idea?”

 

Jerome took a few minutes to answer, as the teacher was giving them a heavy load of stuff to write down. As soon as he was able, he raised his brows at McCoy. “Kirk got called into a conference of suspension this morning.”

 

_What?_

 

McCoy turned his full attention on Jerome, the teacher’s lesson completely forgotten. “What do you mean?”

 

“There are a couple of conflicting stories right now, but the recurring tale is that Kirk went to a bar on Friday and got drunk, and sent a couple people to the hospital.” He took his eyes from the notes he was writing down and glanced at McCoy. “You included.”

 

“Wait a second, wait,” McCoy held up a hand, and had to make a conscious effort to keep his voice at a whisper. “What are people saying? That he went on a drunken rampage? Beat people up, and now he’s—what—getting _suspended?”_

 

“He was summoned this morning at seven, got taken right out of his Xenolinguistics class. Some of the cadets that share that class with him said that some of their friends in the medical track heard about a bar fight happening Friday night, and that he was in it.” Jerome’s eyes flicked between his notes and the board at the front. “One person was able to get the info on who was involved, saw that Kirk fractured a civilian’s face and that you also had to be filed in a report.” He eyed McCoy again, his gaze lingering on the doctor’s nose. “He beat you worse than I imagined.”

 

“He didn’t do this,” McCoy blurted, thoughts in a frenzied scatter.

 

What the hell? Jim was getting in trouble? But _why?_ He hadn’t instigated the fight, he had been acting in self defense. Why was he being punished for it? And why the hell did people latch onto this story?

 

“Why is everyone talking about this?” McCoy asked, voice low.

 

“Everybody knows who Kirk is,” Jerome said, as though that was answer enough. “If he’s not popular, he’s at least famous. Of course people would want to hear about the Kelvin Baby’s escapades, _especially_ if he was getting in trouble.” There was a long pause while he wrote down notes. When Jerome spoke again, his voice was softer, almost solemn. “Summons of suspension are rare here. It would be a big deal no matter who it was, but the fact that it’s the famous Kelvin Baby who has been summoned is capturing everyone’s attention.”

 

...Kelvin Baby?

 

McCoy lowered his head, gripped his pen in a cold hand.

 

He had made the connection who Jim’s dad was as soon as he heard the name Kirk. But he hadn’t…

 

God, how did he not make the connection that Jim was _the_ Kelvin Baby? How the fuck did that not occur to him?

 

McCoy stared blankly at the notes he was supposed to be writing. Certain parts of Jim’s character suddenly clicked into a place of understanding for McCoy. Jim wasn’t only the child of a famous person... he himself was famous. That had undoubtedly affected everything in his life.

 

Jerome spoke up again, startling McCoy. He had forgotten the kid was there for a moment.

 

“There’s a lot of speculation as to what Kirk did or what’s going to happen to him. And as for the rumors,” Jerome studied McCoy’s nose again, “arriving on campus with your face looking like that has added more fuel to fire than I think you realize.”

 

* * *

 

After class, McCoy packed his stuff with stiff limbs. Jerome had run off as soon as they were let out, apparently having to rush to his next class.

 

The news of Jim’s situation pricked McCoy’s skin with discomfort. He felt like this was his fault, somehow. If he hadn’t gotten himself hurt, if he hadn’t let himself get punched, then Jim wouldn’t be getting the blame for everything. And McCoy had promised Jim that he wouldn't get in trouble... Fuck, he just couldn't  _not_ feel guilty.

 

As he walked down the hall, the vast sea of eyes trained on McCoy’s face became palpable, and he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of all the staring.

 

It was so fucked up. People thought that _Jim_ did this to him? They thought the bruises and his misshapen nose were all _Kirk’s_ fault? An urge to scream was building in McCoy the further he walked and the more gazes he gathered.

 

_Jim didn’t do this! It was some bastard in a bar, it wasn’t Jim!_

 

Uneasiness crashing in his gut like waves in a storm, McCoy took a sharp right onto a hall he knew was usually fairly empty, and bumped right into Uhura.

 

“Oh!” she gasped, and McCoy hurried to grab her arms so as to keep her upright. She blinked at McCoy, eyes immediately settling on his nose. “Oh my God,” she whispered, hand reaching up as though to touch his face, though no contact was made.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, withdrawing his hands once it was clear she was steady on her feet. Her attention to his nose was making him uncomfortable, and he hoped his question would distract her.

 

Suddenly she frowned, her eyes harder than he ever could have imagined them being. “He did this to you? That fucking prick.”

 

He was thrown, both by her cursing and by the realization that she, too, believed the rumor that Kirk had mercilessly beat him up.

 

A strange heat building in his chest, McCoy glowered. “Jim Kirk didn’t do this to me,” words as clear as he could make them.

 

She blinked at him in blatant confusion. “But, everyone’s saying—”

 

“Everyone is fucking wrong,” McCoy grumbled. “I don’t know where everyone’s getting this harebrained idea, but Jim didn’t fucking touch me.”

 

She continued to study McCoy’s face, as though in disbelief that the rumors of Jim going batshit on poor helpless people could be false. “Doesn’t seem that harebrained to me,” she mumbled. Her eyes bore into his. “Especially not with what his roommate’s been saying.”

 

McCoy tilted his head in confusion. He hadn’t even considered the fact that Jim had a shared dorm, but of course he would. Single dorms were only for senior medical officers. What was Jim’s roommate even like? “What has his roommate been saying?”

 

She sighed. “Apparently Kirk is a repeat offender.”

 

...What?

 

McCoy’s mouth went dry and he struggled to wet his lips. “What, like… criminally?”

 

She nodded grimly, frown prominent. “Apparently he’s got all sorts of charges. Like--”

 

McCoy threw up a hand to stop her. A cold stone had slid into his gut, and his nose was starting to ache from how tightly pinched his brow was. “I don’t want to hear it,” McCoy said, voice a low murmur. “I don’t want to know.”

 

She sighed through her nose. “Fine. But when you hear what sort of stuff he’s done, you’ll see how it’s easy to think him guilty of what he’s being accused of.” She glanced at her PADD. “I have to go to class.”

 

“Wait.” McCoy kept his hand up, and only continued when their eyes locked. “You talk to people, right?”

 

She squinted at him like he was an idiot.

 

He continued before he could either be ashamed or offended. “If you hear anyone discussing Jim, do me a favor and make it clear that Jim is _not_ in the wrong. Can you do that? Make sure all these false accusations get nipped in the bud. And make sure they know it’s _me_ that’s vouching for him.”

 

Her expression softened marginally, before she nodded. Having shared a class with both he and Jim, he suspected she had a pretty good idea of how intolerant McCoy was in general. Especially when it came to Jim. He hoped to God she’d understand his adamance was proof enough of how stupid these rumors were.

 

“Alright. I have to go.” She touched his arm as she passed him. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Feel better, and good luck dealing with Kirk.”

 

McCoy could only stand there after she left. His head pounded ceaselessly, though whether it was from his healing nose or from the flurry of new information gathering in his head, McCoy wasn’t sure. He massaged at his temples gingerly, face distorted in distress.

 

Jim had a criminal record. For some reason that made sense, Jim definitely had that sort of bravado and aura of someone who’d been to hell—or at least seen it—and even stranger yet, McCoy wasn’t completely bothered by this revelation. Because, really… So what?

 

What did him having a record have to do with anything? It didn’t change who he was as a person. And as McCoy was steadily learning… Jim Kirk was _not_ a bad person. And what kind of fucking roommate was that, to be giving out that information like this? What right did they have? That seemed like something Jim and Jim _alone_ should disclose, no one else.

 

Especially not at a time like this, when the rumor mill had gone crazy enough with false accusations built over incorrect retellings. For such a stupid rumor to suddenly have damning evidence thrown on top…

 

That just wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

 

McCoy had _been_ there when the bar fight happened. He knew what Jim did, and most importantly, what Jim _didn’t_ do. So, what? Apparently Starfleet didn't care about getting whole stories? Were they going to punish Jim for stuff they merely heard in rumor?

 

There was no factual basis in what was being said about Jim, his past records be damned. McCoy saw Jim that night. How thoughtful he was. Both in regards to distracting McCoy from his divorce, and for stepping in on behalf of a girl who couldn’t defend herself against the fucking meat-head that punched McCoy.

 

Jim hadn’t done anything wrong, and he certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve all these fucking lies that were being spread about him. Sure, he got on McCoy’s nerves on an exhausting daily basis, but that didn’t mean he deserved _this._

 

As resolve took the form of fire in his lungs, McCoy turned on his heel and began a steady trek towards the Administration building. If they were going to fucking punish Jim for something he shouldn’t be getting in trouble for, especially not publicly and socially _crucified_ for, then they might as well get a statement from someone who had actually fucking _been there._

 

It was easier ignoring the stares this time, as he mentally projected, _Don’t fucking talk to me, Jim Kirk is fucking innocent, Think for your fucking self for Goddamn once, Don’t believe every fucking thing you hear, you Goddamn idiots._

 

He strode with such purpose to the steps of the Administration building, he could practically picture the trail of flaming footprints he was leaving in his wake. With outrage pounding in his head, the actual pain of his nose had been muted to a distant ache.

 

But as soon as McCoy’s foot landed on the first step to the Administration building’s main doors, he stopped dead in his tracks.

 

Because Jim had just exited, face stony in apparent frustration and fury. He was descending the steps with the same air of outraged determination that McCoy had just felt within himself, and the kid’s hands were balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. His clear, _clear_ blue eyes were trained straight ahead, and McCoy only realized Jim wasn’t seeing his surroundings after he’d passed the stunned doctor.

 

“Jim!” McCoy choked, lurching towards the cadet.

 

Jim flinched and turned, blinking multiple times as he made eye contact with McCoy. “Bones?”

 

“Jim,” McCoy said again, as he came around to Kirk’s front. “What happened?”

 

The kid continued to stare at him, wide-eyed gaze lingering on the doctor’s nose, almost as though he wasn’t processing that McCoy was there. His blue eyes flicked back to the Administration building, before settling on the doctor. “What are you doing here?” he asked instead of answering McCoy’s question.

 

McCoy frowned and also eyed the building the kid had just come from. He licked his lips nervously, dully aware that the flames in his chest had begun to abate with Kirk’s presence. “I came here for you,” he admitted. “I heard you got in trouble.”

 

Jim’s lips thinned into a tight line, and he continued to study McCoy’s face before suddenly turning and continuing his path away from Administration. “Come on, let’s talk somewhere else.”

 

* * *

 

Jim brought them to a small cafe on the far side of campus, right beside the bay. Salty sea air whipped through their hair, and McCoy’s eyes were already sore from glaring at every person they had passed on their walk. He wasn’t even sure if Jim was aware of how many people had gaped at the two of them. He rubbed at his lids tiredly and bumped right into Jim’s back, the kid having stopped while the doctor was distracted.

 

“I’m not in the mood for come-ons right now, Bones,” Jim said over his shoulder, pushing McCoy away carefully.

 

McCoy frowned at him but didn’t answer, and stepped into the cafe when Jim opened the door for him. The smell of the ocean was replaced by wafts of coffee, and McCoy hadn’t realized how low the temperature was outside until he shivered from the sudden blanket of warmer indoor air.

 

Most of the light was coming from the windows, despite the cloud cover that hung over San Francisco, and the mix of warmth and low light soothed McCoy’s nerves. It definitely helped that there were hardly any people there. Two girls talked together at a table near the door, and in the back corner was what seemed to be a Vulcan professor reading Alice in Wonderland. McCoy didn’t even know there was anything about that book that could appeal to such a stuck up species.

 

McCoy eyed the back of Jim’s head and appreciated Jim’s ability to find a place with so little traffic, and briefly wondered how he hadn’t heard of the cafe on campus before.

 

Jim turned towards the doctor, and McCoy couldn’t help but notice that no eye contact was made as the kid spoke. “You want anything?”

 

McCoy grunted and shook his head. “I’m alright. Don’t really want coffee right now.” Just the thought of adding caffeine to his already throbbing headache made McCoy slightly nauseous.

 

Jim cocked his head to the side, as though he were cracking his neck, and reached into his pocket as he stepped up to the counter. “I’ll get you tea, then,” he mumbled before ignoring McCoy’s indignant sputtering in lieu of placing an order.

 

The doctor crossed his arms and glowered at Jim’s back. The kid didn’t have to buy him anything, damn it. Besides, he wasn’t there to drink.

 

They were there to talk.

 

McCoy gave the cafe’s patrons another once over while Jim spoke with the cashier. The other three customers didn’t seem in the least bit interested in McCoy’s ugly nose or Jim himself. Gossiping must not be their thing.

 

His eyes settled on the Vulcan for a moment and he wondered if gossiping was something Vulcans even did. 

 

Wait. Since when were there Vulcans at Starfleet..?

 

A warm hand nudged his elbow and he blinked at Jim, who was already headed to the corner farthest from everyone else. The kid led them to a small table beside a window that overlooked the bay, and McCoy kept his gaze outside while he took his seat across from Jim.

 

He watched the clouds sail in a huge mass of gray fog, and rubbed his fingers over the velvety soft fabric of his pant leg while he waited for Jim to say something. A long bout of silence continued, and McCoy finally looked at Jim. The kid was scowling at the bare tabletop, eyes cold and distant.

 

McCoy couldn’t help but be worried the longer Jim stayed quiet. Was he not going to say anything? Was he in serious trouble? What did Starfleet decide? What did they summon him for? Was he going to be suspended? Expelled? Did he blame McCoy?

 

Did he know what people were saying about him?

 

“Two chamomile teas,” the barista called, luring Jim away from the table for a few moments.

 

When he came back, he handed McCoy the warm drink without making eye contact. “Hope you’re not allergic,” Kirk muttered.

 

McCoy squinted at the strange attempt at humor (who the fuck was allergic to tea?), and took the tea with a quiet thanks. He watched Jim sip at his, and instead of doing the same just wrapped his hands around the heated cup.

 

He felt like they had a lot to talk about. There was a lot he needed cleared up. But how would they start? How do two classmates get into a discussion like this? If they were actually friends, it would be a little different, but McCoy didn’t think they were.

 

Should he tell Jim about the rumors? Was there a chance he knew already?

 

And what the fuck did Starfleet call him in for?

 

The more he thought about it, McCoy decided that that was the most pressing issue at hand.

 

He watched Jim take careful sips of his tea for a few moments longer, until it was clear by Jim’s silence and deep frown that he was too troubled to start talking on his own.

 

McCoy took a careful breath. “Jim, what did you get called in for?”

 

Jim turned his scowl towards McCoy, but by the way his eyes softened McCoy knew the expression wasn’t because of his question. Jim instead averted his gaze to the bay beyond the window, and placed his tea on the table as his lips parted. “For the fight on Friday. They heard about it because they hear about everything.” Jim snorted quietly and one of his brows ticked up, before he shook his head and took another sip. He was quiet for a few seconds, his glare fixed on the tabletop, before he added, “Apparently cadets getting into fights is a big no-no. Who would’ve thought?”

 

“So it was for the fight?” McCoy could feel his own frown deepen. “Then why the fuck didn’t I get in trouble?”

 

McCoy didn’t _want_ to be in trouble, and part of him was very relieved for having not received any heat, but it wasn’t fucking fair. Jim wasn’t alone Friday night. Besides, neither he or Jim were even the ones that started the fight.

 

Jim rubbed at his forehead and closed his eyes. “You were in your civvies. I wasn’t.”

 

“So what?” McCoy growled. “What does that mean? Just because I wasn’t in uniform, I suddenly wasn’t involved?”

 

“It’s not that,” Jim muttered, his icy eyes glued to the window. “As far as I’m aware, Starfleet doesn’t give two shits what cadets do on their free time. So long as they don’t do stuff that could make Starfleet look bad.” His nose twitched in what McCoy could only interpret as distaste. “A first year cadet sending a civilian to the hospital makes Starfleet look very bad. Like they can’t keep their dogs on a chain or something.”

 

“But that ‘civilian’,” McCoy huffed, “wasn’t some innocent passerby that you wailed on for no reason. He hit first, you acted in self defense.”

 

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” Jim hissed, shifting the tea between his hands. “Starfleet officers have to be able to display self control, have to make peace without violence. Use fucking words and diplomacy and the shit we’re supposed to be learning. Not aggravate a situation by attacking in kind.”

 

“You didn’t aggravate anything,” McCoy responded, disbelief and shock and _frustration_ hitting it off in his gut. “The guy was beyond words. And even if he was in a state where he could be spoken to, he had riled himself up enough that words wouldn’t have solved anything.” He quickly held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying violence is the answer to everything, but…” He bit down on his tongue, reminded himself that as a doctor he couldn’t— _shouldn’t—_ condone violence. “But… sometimes there’s no other option.”

 

Jim went quiet again, and the expression he wore while looking out the window seemed more pained than frustrated. His Adam's apple bobbed. “Again, that didn’t matter in this case. It might’ve been different if I’d been here awhile, or if the officers in the committee knew who I was, but…” He swallowed again, and he gazed balefully at the tea in his hand. “But they know _what_ I am. And right now that doesn’t make me look very pretty in their eyes.”

 

McCoy’s grip tightened around his own cup. “What do you mean?”

 

“I…” Jim’s eyes wandered upwards, though they didn’t quite reach McCoy’s own. “I figure you’re probably going to find out eventually, so I guess I might as well tell you now. Myself.” His eyes drifted down again. “I’ve got a record. A long one.”

 

McCoy pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, as all of his saliva turned sour. Damn. Damn it.

 

_Fuck._

 

Guilt slid down McCoy’s chest and felt shamed, frustrated, and so sorry that he already knew. All because of rumors that were being spread. God damn it, regret was wailing on McCoy’s already aching head and he tiredly massaged his temple.

 

That was obviously a hard thing for the kid to admit. Hell, that would be a hard thing for _anyone_ to admit to, especially in a place where they were obviously trying to start fresh. McCoy wished all to hell that he had learned of this from Jim and Jim alone, as the kid obviously wanted.

 

That was how it should have gone. It should have been Jim’s to reveal.

 

McCoy wished he had learned of Jim’s record by the kid’s own choice.

 

He continued to rub his hand down his face, and only opened his eyes after resignation had settled over all of the guilt and regret in his chest. His gaze drifted towards Jim’s.“I know,” McCoy croaked.

 

Jim’s blue eyes widened for a moment, before they tightened in hesitation. “How do you know?” he asked, voice verging on suspicious.

 

McCoy heaved a deep sigh. He didn’t want to be the one to break the news to Jim, but someone had to. “The rumor mill’s been going crazy all day,” he muttered. “About Friday. And you and me.”

 

Jim cocked his head, eyes growing harder. “What _about_ ‘you and me’?”

 

“The rumor of the day is that you sent a couple people—myself included—to the hospital in a drunken rampage.” McCoy scowled at his tea. “I don’t know who the hell started it, but it’s plain idiotic. And for whatever God damn reason, everyone’s latched onto it. They think you,” without looking at Jim, he motioned towards his nose, “did this. And no one’s bothered to even ask _me_ if any of it’s true or not. Which it’s _not_ , but that doesn’t seem to matter to any of them. They’re like starved wolves that have been let loose in a butcher’s shop. It doesn’t help matters that your...” He trailed off and had to swallow around his unbearably dry throat. “Your roommate is telling everyone about your criminal record.”

 

A long bout of silence dragged on, and McCoy couldn’t bring himself to look at Jim’s face.

 

“He fucking _what?!”_

 

McCoy startled at Jim’s outburst and looked up to see the kid staring at him with raging incredulity.

 

The kid’s jaw cocked to the side and his heated glare went back to the window. Jim shook his head in outraged disbelief. “Mother _fucker._ ” He dragged his hands over his eyes and his teeth bared in a snarl. “That fucking _bastard_. What kind of sick fucking--?” Jim cut himself off and his lips thinned in a tight line and his nostrils flared, while he continued to shake his head in barely contained rage. His hand that was on the table tightened into a fist. “What right did he have to pull a stunt like that?” Jim asked, his quiet voice shaking with anger.

 

Based on Jim’s reaction, McCoy’s suspicion that the leaking of information was a major breach of trust was more than confirmed. “How did he find out?” he asked, as he had no way of answering Jim’s question.

 

Jim clenched and unclenched his fingers, one or two of his knuckles popping as he did. “Fucker must have hacked into my info.” He bared his teeth again and covered half his face with a tense hand. “Shit.”

 

McCoy wasn’t sure what words of comfort he could offer. He’d like to say, ‘no one will believe it’, but… hell, if he hadn’t already spent so much time with Jim, then he definitely would’ve believed it as much as the next person. He probably would’ve believed the rumors about Jim beating people up for no reason, too.

 

He couldn’t even say, ‘this won’t affect you’, because obviously it already had. Jim insinuated that his being in trouble was largely due to his past record. Wait.

 

“I’m sorry to change the subject from your God-awful roommate,” McCoy said, fingers tightening around his cup, “but… you didn’t tell me what Starfleet decided. Did you get suspended?”

 

Jim dragged his hand down his face and steadied his cold blue eyes on McCoy. “Why’re you asking, Bones?” he asked. His voice was still in a growl, apparently an after-effect from the fury of a few moments ago. “Afraid to lose your partner on your final?”

 

McCoy shook his head slowly. This had nothing to do with their project. “I don’t care about that. I was just…” Concerned? Worried? “...Wondering.”

 

Jim stared at him longer than was comfortable, before bringing his thumb to his lips to chew on the nail. “In school suspension for the rest of the semester.”

 

McCoy squinted. “What does that mean?”

 

Jim raised his brows at the doctor like he was stupid. “It means exactly what you think. I’m to stay on campus for the rest of the semester, going nowhere but to my classes and dorm.” His eyes drifted to the tabletop. “They don’t have a good enough reason to expel me, so this is their way of keeping me from acting like a wild animal.”

 

McCoy studied the kid’s face. It was blank, his blue eyes so clear and cold.

 

He didn’t deserve to be treated like this. No one deserved to be treated like this. Yet Jim was almost seeming… resigned to his situation. Not to say he wasn’t obviously angry and frustrated, but it almost seemed like he wasn’t _surprised_ by the situation.

 

McCoy hadn’t known Jim long. But he could already tell that, criminal record or not, Jim wasn’t a bad person and certainly didn’t deserve to be treated or spoken about like this. And he definitely didn’t deserve to feel like it was his fault.

 

The doctor quietly rubbed his thumbs on his cup. “I’m sorry, Jim.” He waited for the kid to look at him. “This is all fucked up and you don’t deserve it.”

 

Jim huffed and leaned back in his seat. “If that’s what you think… then you obviously don’t know me.” He fingered the lid on his drink. “I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this.”

 

“Cut the self-pitying crap,” McCoy grumbled before he could stop himself. “You’re not a bad person. I haven’t known you long, but bad people don’t stick up for others who can’t stick up for themselves. So if you wanna be pissed, be pissed. Don’t just accept things as they are. I sure as hell don’t want to.”

 

Jim paused. “What, are you saying I should break some rules? Ignore my suspension?”

 

“Not at all.” McCoy kept his gaze leveled with Jim’s. “But their treatment of you isn’t right, and you shouldn’t think it is. Shouldn’t think you deserve it. And you shouldn’t have to accept their idea for who you are. You don’t even have to accept mine.” McCoy leaned forward, his grip on his cup tightening. “But don’t let _them_ decide who you are. It doesn’t fucking matter that you’ve got a record. You’re here, same as every other cadet, and whatever you’ve got in your past doesn’t make you lesser than people that’ve had it easy. If their idea of you is wrong, then you need to fucking prove it to them.”

 

Jim stared at him, face open in astonished vulnerability. He licked at his plump lips, and slowly his eyes softened and warmed all at once. The barest hint of a smile graced Jim’s features. “Didn’t you hate me, like, last week?”

 

McCoy raised a brow and tapped a finger against his cup. “Believe it or not, I’m having an easier time tolerating you than some of the other people on this campus.”

 

Jim chuckled quietly, the sound almost raw when compared to the heated discussion from just moments before. “I told you I was lovable,” he mumbled. He brought his cup to his lips and while looking through the window said, “Are you gonna drink your tea? It’s probably gone cold by now.”

 

Oh.

 

McCoy realized with a hint of bashfulness that he had yet to take one sip. He brought his cup to his lips, eyed the slope of Jim’s shoulders, and found that the tea was at the perfect temperature.

 

It wasn't bad at all.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, sorry it's taken me so long to get this one up.. 
> 
> Life's still not pulling its punches on my end. My grandma got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer last week and now she's expected to die within the next two or three days. If not today. That being said, I don't know how long it'll be before I update either this one or the other fic again. Hopefully not too long, it all really depends on how my school work is going. I definitely won't be able to write for most of this week, especially not on the weekend, because I have to oversee a high school music festival/honor band. It's my job to take care of percussion equipment, so I'm going to be busy all weekend. 
> 
> If I get a chance or if I'm feeling up to it, I'll force myself to sit down and write some lol
> 
> Who knows, I might be able to upload the next chapter of Let Me Help sometime this week. (Maybe not though, I'm only 700 words into the next one lmao, but y'know, miracles happen)
> 
> Anyway, I'm uploading this without giving it a read-through because I wanted to have it up before I went to school this morning. Soon as I get off the bus, though, I intend to clean this up. But here's the raw version for all you early risers c:


	8. Year One, Semester One; ACT III, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy willingly spends more time with Jim, mostly due to the fact that the kid gets injured.

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT III**

**_Part 1 of 3_ **

 

It was only after McCoy had finished his tea that he realized he was twenty minutes late to his Medicine class. Jim laughed at him the whole time he rushed to get out of the cafe, the sound a stark brightness in comparison to the rain that slowly began to fall outside.

 

After the day they had been having, though… McCoy couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by Jim’s teasing chuckling. But that didn’t stop him from flipping the kid off as he stumbled out the door.

 

* * *

 

People got over the whole debacle with Jim faster than McCoy expected. In fact, getting suspended somehow seemed to make Jim even more popular. Made him an official bad boy, or something equally idiotic.

 

(What was attractive about bad boys, McCoy couldn’t guess. Nor did he care.)

 

Overall, it appeared being suspended wasn’t going to have any sort of negative affect on Jim’s ever-so-social life. It quickly became apparent that when it came to Jim, other cadets fell into one of three groups.

 

One; those that were horribly infatuated with Jim and could only see the positive in his every action.

Two; those that had already disliked him and would probably _always_ dislike him.

And three; those that didn’t care either way what their classmates got up to.

 

And really, when it came down to it, everyone was too busy to get caught up in gossip for long. They _were_ attending Starfleet Academy, after all. Class work was relentless.

 

And speaking of class, that Wednesday Jim was able to rejoin Federation Law. Since they were back to sharing a class every day, McCoy became rapidly accustomed to Jim’s presence. The kid was definitely annoying, but he also wasn’t the _worst_ company. At the very least, their conversations were always—or usually—interesting.

 

McCoy wanted to keep to himself still, of course, but… If avoiding Jim was going to be an impossible endeavor (and the cosmos kept reminding him that that was the case), then he was starting to question the point in fighting. He and Jim were going to be stuck together for a few hours every day anyway, so McCoy figured it would be better for everyone if he stopped trying to push others away.

 

Surely, it would only prove futile in the end.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, what are you doing right now?”

 

McCoy glanced at Jim as he continued to pack up his stuff. “Why? I know Galaar just mentioned the project, but ours is pretty polished at the moment. And we’ve still got a few weeks before it’s due.”

 

Jim flapped his hand at McCoy lazily, sighing softly. “No, I’m not asking if you wanna do _work_ right now. I’m asking if you’re free.”

 

“Oh.” McCoy faltered. Did… did Jim want to hang out? McCoy’s knee-jerk thought was to say, _“remember what happened last time we hung out? I got beat up and you got suspended!”,_ but he managed to stop himself. He instead frowned down at his bag as he closed it up, and swung it over his shoulder with a hearty exhale. “I don’t have to be anywhere until twelve.”

 

Jim’s face lit up. “Oh, great! Me too!” He smacked McCoy’s arm as he headed towards the door, presumably as an invitation to follow.

 

McCoy hurried to catch up to Jim. The kid reminded him of a freight train sometimes, he was all forward momentum and horribly unyielding, and that somehow meant Jim was always a few steps ahead of McCoy. He was a hassle to keep pace with, so most of the time McCoy didn’t even try.

 

“Where are we going?” McCoy asked, once he finally reached Jim’s side.

 

“Uh.” Jim stopped in his tracks, suddenly and effectively blocking the traffic of the hall they were in.

 

McCoy could only grimace in apology at those that had to now sidle around them.

 

“I don’t actually have a destination in mind,” Jim said, a thoughtful smirk twisting his lips. “You got any ideas?”

 

McCoy sighed and started ushering him out of the hall, so they were instead in the corner closest to the building’s doors. McCoy would’ve put them outside, save for the fact that it was pouring and _freezing_ out.

 

“Well…” McCoy’s mouth twisted to the side while he thought. It wasn’t often Jim reached out to him, so McCoy was a little curious… Maybe he wanted to talk about something specific. Where would be a good place to talk? “How about the mess? I could go for some lunch right now.”

 

The kid’s eyes were trained on a gaggle of girls that were passing by, and for a second McCoy wondered if Jim had even heard him. After the kid shared a flirtatious grin with a couple of them (cheeky bastard even threw in a wink) he answered. “That sounds fine.”

 

McCoy nodded in silent agreement. After a long pause of mental preparation, he held his bag a little bit tighter and lead the way out.

 

His first thought was that it was _cold._

 

San Francisco was getting to be _way_ too cold for his taste. Sure, Georgia had its frigid season, but this incessant wetness was a whole ‘nother level of hell.

 

“Fuck this weather,” he hissed under his breath before breaking into a light jog. He left his umbrella back in his dorm like some sort of idiot, leaving himself completely susceptible to the biting downpour and merciless winds.

 

The sound of nearby splashing told him Jim had caught up. “What, not one for rain?”

 

“Rain is fine, in moderation!” McCoy narrowly managed to avoid a massive puddle, and quickened his pace just a little once the mess hall came into view. “But it is a thousand times more tolerable with an umbrella!”

 

“Well, I—!” Jim cut himself off to splutter water from his mouth. “I can’t disagree there!”

 

The two of them skid into the dry area under the awning of the mess hall, and McCoy could only squawk in indignance when Jim started to shake the water off like a fucking _dog._

 

The kid straightened up, cheeks rosy from the brief run and the cold air, and a glowing smile was spread across his face. “I’ve gotta admit, I’m not that used to the rain myself.”

 

McCoy made an attempt to get the water out of his own hair by scrubbing a hand through it. “No?” He pressed his shoulder into the door to open it, and relaxed when the warm cafeteria air washed over the two of them. He exhaled contentedly. “Where are you from that you don’t get rain?”

 

“The Midwest. What about you?”

 

McCoy turned to him with a raised brow. He hadn't realized they had gotten close enough to share their birthplaces, so he took his time giving a reply. “The south.”

 

Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yeah? Where?”

 

“Mm.” How much to reveal? “Uh… Georgia.”

 

Jim nodded, made a humming noise in interest.

 

McCoy led them deeper into the mess, and waited for Jim to say something. He glanced back at the kid the longer he stayed silent.

 

Was he not gonna offer where _he_ was from?

 

McCoy really didn't care either way, but it was common courtesy to answer the same question you forced on someone else.

 

Jim was scanning his gaze over the tables, nonchalant in his whole demeanor, and McCoy frowned at him. “What about you?” he asked, raising his voice a little so as to be heard above the permeating noise of chatting cadets.

 

The kid glanced at him distractedly. “Huh?”

 

“Where are _you_ from?” McCoy clarified as he stepped into line.

 

Jim turned away again and went back to watching the rest of the room. He clapped a hand to McCoy’s back (really hard, Jesus _Christ)_ and started stepping away. “Iowa. Hey, I’m gonna go get us a seat.”

 

“Ah—” Jim had bolted off before McCoy could give him a proper reply. The doctor sighed as he gathered his food.

 

Iowa, huh? McCoy spared a moment to wonder if Jim was from Riverside, or if he had just happened to be in the area when the shuttles took off. He tried to imagine what sort of life Jim was coming from, and scenes of cornfields and shipyards came to mind. Kid wasn’t kidding when he said the Midwest. In fact, McCoy was a little surprised that he didn’t sound more like a hick.

 

McCoy’s eyes roamed over the cadets through the hall as he grabbed some pasta salad, and thought about how well Jim seemed to have adjusted to the difference in climate. From what he remembered, that part of the country didn’t get much rain. Not as much as Georgia, and definitely not as much as San Fran.

 

After gathering what was hopefully enough food to tide him over until the end of his hospital shift that night (which wouldn’t be until almost 9 pm, because the world hated him), McCoy braved the sea of boisterous cadets eating and mingling, until he finally spotted Jim at a table near the corner with the most windows. He took his seat across from the blond and frowned at him. “You’re not eating?”

 

Jim took a quick second to glance at McCoy before redirecting his gaze to the rain outside. “Nah, not right now.”

 

Hm. He must have already eaten.

 

“So hey, Bones.” Jim crossed his arms on the table and leaned over them, bringing him just a little closer and making it clear that his full attention was on the doctor. “What’s your schedule?”

 

McCoy paused, his forkful of pasta only halfway to his mouth. He squinted at Jim in suspicion. “Why’re you asking?”

 

Jim shrugged. “I dunno. Just wondering if any of our breaks line up.”

 

With his squint still in full force, McCoy continued his endeavor to eat and took his time chewing before replying. “Well, it seems this break lines up for sure. Unless you’re not normally free right after Diplomacy.”

 

“No, I always am. I’ve got nothing until my Systems of Theories and Rhetoric class at twelve.”

 

McCoy choked on his food.

 

“Whoah, the food here that bad?” Jim muttered.

 

McCoy shook his head until his airway was clear again. “No, it’s fine. But— What the hell? Why are you taking _that_ class?”

 

Jim raised his brows at him, before giving a light shrug. “Why not? It’s interesting.”

 

A flashback of walking Jim to math shot through McCoy’s head, reminding him that Jim had said something similar when asked why he was taking math.

 

Was he… Was he seriously taking these classes for _fun?_

 

Even though he wasn’t the one that had initiated the topic of conversation, McCoy’s intrigue was beyond piqued. “What does _your_ schedule look like?”

 

“Hey, no deflecting, you haven’t answered my question yet!”

 

“I’m not deflecting.” McCoy scowled at his food for a moment, before rifling through his bag in search of his PADD. He pulled it out and turned his concentrated frown onto Jim. “You have your PADD on you, right? Why don’t we just compare visually?”

 

“Ohh,” Jim nodded with a little smile on his face, before doing as suggested. “All right, I like how you think. You a visual learner?”

 

McCoy shook his head noncommittally. “Just a learner.”

 

Jim snorted, but didn't reply. After a second of tapping on the screen, Jim finally placed his PADD on the table between them, tilted so they could both read. McCoy hurried to do the same.

 

Jim was taking _seven classes_ versus McCoy’s measly four. The kid’s Mondays and Wednesdays started at fucking seven in the morning, and were packed until four pm. And his Tuesdays and Thursdays had three classes stretched out between seven thirty am and seven pm. That was _so much time_ spent in class.

 

McCoy couldn’t help but scowl the longer he looked at Jim’s schedule. Regardless of the fact that his hours didn’t leave much room outside of class, McCoy was finding himself especially troubled by what _sort_ of classes the kid was taking.

 

Federation Law and Diplomacy he was already aware of, since the two of them shared those classes, and he already knew of Finite Mathematics and the newly revealed Systems of Theories and Rhetoric. But in addition to those, Jim was also taking Xenolinguistics, Ancient Literature and the Formation of Culture (what the fuck?), and Basic Piloting.

 

His heart stopped when his eyes landed on that last class.

 

McCoy had been doing a lovely job so far ignoring the fact that piloting was a required class. Seeing that Jim was taking it suddenly made its existence much more difficult to ignore. McCoy hurriedly swallowed back panicked saliva and mumbled, “Why the fuck are you taking so many classes?”

 

“I’m going to graduate in three years.”

 

McCoy’s brain fizzled in confusion before it rebooted. “What?”

 

Jim was eyeing their schedules with a pleased little smile. “Captain Pike told me I could graduate in four years if I tried. So I’m going to do it in three.” His blue eyes shot up to McCoy before the doctor could respond. “Looks like our only breaks that line up this semester are the half hour before Federation Law, and the two hours after Diplomacy.”

 

A sound of acknowledgment rumbled at the back of McCoy’s throat. “That’s nice and all, but why the fuck would you want to graduate in three years? The workload here is bad enough, why the hell do you wanna make it worse for yourself?”

 

Jim shrugged easily, his whole demeanor content as all hell. “To prove that I can.”

 

“To who? Pike? Yourself?”

 

“Everybody.” Jim’s tone in his response was noticeably less jovial than it had been in the past few minutes. He closed down his PADD and McCoy couldn’t look away from the strangely pensive sheen he could see in the kid’s eyes. “I want to prove that I’m not only able to graduate, but that I can do it faster and better than anyone else.”

 

“Why?” McCoy asked again, a little quieter.

 

Jim blinked up at him, the pensiveness once again gone from the kid’s expression. “What’s with all the questions, Bones? Can’t a guy want to accomplish something?”

 

“But why strive for the impossible?”

 

“Why not? This is Starfleet, isn’t it? Isn’t everything about Starfleet striving for the impossible?”

 

McCoy faltered. Yes, it could be argued that everything that Starfleet stood for was trying to attain the unattainable—universal peace, complete understanding of all living things, discovering and uncovering all unknown in the galaxy and beyond—but… Did Jim even believe in any of that stuff?

 

Or was he just trying to show off?

 

Narrowing his eyes, McCoy snorted derisively. “I guess. Is that really what you’re about? Doing as much as you can for Starfleet?” McCoy tilted his head, and Jim’s gaze followed him with interest. “Or are you just doing what you can to make yourself look good?”

 

Jim paused for only a moment, before he snagged an apple slice off of McCoy’s plate and bit down with an obnoxious crunch. “And isn’t that the big question? Am I ambitious or just selfish?” He grinned at McCoy, as though they weren’t discussing Jim’s morality or intentions. “What do you think, Bones? What am I?”

 

McCoy sighed in annoyance through his nostrils, and eyed the blonde in front of him.

 

Jim was an enigma. He was annoying, brash, undoubtedly selfish, and yet… He was smart. Aware. And there was definitely so much more to him than McCoy had yet seen.

 

The doctor blinked slowly in thought, before voicing his decision. “A pain in my ass.”

 

* * *

 

McCoy loved Saturdays.

 

Or at least he used to. When he was in Georgia, his weekends were generally free of any work, and he usually had that time for himself or—... well, his family, when he had it. But at Starfleet Academy, his Saturdays were once again filled with eight and a half hours of working. At least his Sundays were free.

 

McCoy tightened his coat around himself and glared at the early morning sky. There was a thick, dark cloud hanging over the city, and McCoy had his umbrella with him just in case. The last thing he’d want would be to trudge home in the pouring rain after a day of work.

 

He was heading towards the entrance of the campus, since Starfleet decided he could be most useful at the city hospital on the weekend. Him not having classes on Saturdays probably played a big part in their decision, since there would be no need for him to rush between the city clinic and the Academy buildings, and make them worry about how punctual he could be.

 

But he was always _very_ punctual, thank you very much. Which was why he always got himself out the door before eight (regardless of the fact that it was a Goddamn Saturday), so as to give himself the best amount of time to reach the San Francisco hospital he was stationed at. He just wished it wasn’t always so _cold_ in the mornings…

 

And it was only going to get colder. They weren’t even in December yet, and he was already clinging to his coat like a lifeline. He sighed in irritation and sent another hearty glare at the sky.

 

Just as he was passing through the center plaza of the campus, the sound of a worried, verging on frantic voice caught his attention. McCoy hesitated and looked around, surprised that other cadets were up so early on the weekend. His eyes finally settled on a pair of cadets that were shuffling in the general direction of the Academy clinic, and were dressed only in the Starfleet issued workout clothes. God, if _he_ was cold, then the two of them had to be _freezing._

 

He continued walking, not quite taking his eyes off the pair of blonde guys, and couldn’t help but eavesdrop. They were some of the only other souls out at that moment, after all, it wasn't like McCoy had much else to listen to.

 

“Listen, Coby, I told you! I’m fine, I seriously don’t need—”

 

“Jim, don’t say that! It’s my fault this happened to you, I want to _make sure_ you’re fine!”

 

Wait— Jim?

 

Before he even realized what was happening, McCoy’s feet began carrying him to the pair. And the closer he got, it became apparent that that was definitely Jim Kirk. And— Fuck, was that blood?

 

Quickening his pace a little, McCoy called out in question. “Jim?”

 

The two blonde cadets froze in their tracks, before turning to McCoy.

 

Jim’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Bones! What are you doing here?”

 

McCoy ignored the kid’s question and instead put all of his focus on the dried blood trailing from Jim’s right ear that had smeared all over the side of his neck. “Are you all right?” He glanced at the shorter cadet beside Jim before addressing the both of them. “What the hell happened?”

 

“It’s my fault,” Jim’s friend said.

 

McCoy raised his brows in surprise. Jim’s friend—Coby, Jim had called him—was pale and gangly, noticeably more slight than Jim. How did _he_ manage to hurt Kirk?

 

Jim made a weird sort of sighing sound that was in dual parts exasperated and reassuring. “I told you, it’s not your fault. I’m the one who got distracted, it’s _my_ fault for not dodging in time.”

 

McCoy frowned, waiting for someone to give him a straight answer.

 

Jim apparently noticed the doctor’s expression, because he quickly elaborated. “Coby and I were sparring, and he kicked me in the ear.”

 

“Jesus,” McCoy hissed, his hands moving towards Jim’s face on reflex. He stopped himself just before he made contact, and scolded himself for not first making sure touching was allowed by the patient. “Is it alright if I check?”

 

Jim swallowed before haltingly nodding.

 

McCoy gingerly pressed the pads of his fingers against Jim’s jaw and the back of his skull, and carefully tilted the kid’s head to get a better look at his ear. It seemed most of the blood came from the antitragus, which was torn on the edge closest to the tragus. Coby’s foot must have somehow caught on it during the kick, hence the ripping of flesh.

 

However, McCoy also noticed that there was a small amount of blood coming from the auditory canal.

 

His frown tightened and he locked his gaze with Jim’s. “How does your inner ear feel? Be honest.”

 

Jim smirked, but it didn’t look like his heart was in it. “I mean, it hurts.”

 

McCoy carefully touched the shell of Jim’s ear, as he leaned in a little closer to get another look at the damage. “An ache? Or a stab?”

 

“Kind of both. Every few seconds there are waves of a condensed sharp pain.”

 

McCoy grunted in acknowledgment. “Can you feel the pain in your throat and behind your eyes?”

 

Jim paused. “Yes.”

 

He leaned back out and once again leveled his gaze with Jim’s. “And your hearing?”

 

“Muffled on that side.”

 

“Hm.” McCoy frowned harder at Jim. “You ruptured your eardrum.”

 

Coby cut in before Jim could react. “Oh my God, are you serious?” McCoy had been so focused on Jim’s injury, he’d almost completely forgotten about the other person that was standing right there. Coby grabbed Jim’s arm nervously, while his other hand curled by his own mouth. “I’m so sorry, Jim! Does it hurt bad?”

 

Jim turned one of his famous thousand-watt smiles towards Coby, a confident gleam twinkling in his blue eyes. “I told you, it’s no big deal. You’ve hurt me no worse than anything I accidentally do to myself on the daily.” He even gave a little wink. Fucking little charmer.

 

It seemed to ease Coby’s worries, though, and his shoulders noticeably sagged.

 

“You really should get that checked out, though,” McCoy interrupted. “I’m on my way to the hospital right now. I can take you there.”

 

A loud _feh!_ sound erupted from Jim’s mouth. “There’s no need to do _that_ , Bones, this isn’t that serious.”

 

Was he fucking joking?

 

“You’ve got blood all over you,” McCoy replied flatly.

 

Jim waved a dismissive hand. “Head wounds always bleed more than others.”

 

One of McCoy’s brows shot up in indignance. “Oh, I'm sorry, are _you_ the doctor here?”

 

Jesus, why was Jim being so difficult about this? How on earth would avoiding medical care benefit him?

 

Coby stepped a little closer, once again reminding McCoy that he was there. “Jim, if he's a doctor, then you should probably listen to him.”

 

Jim let out a very put-upon sigh. “Will either of you believe me if I say I’m fine?”

 

Both McCoy and Coby gave a resounding, “No.”

 

“Alright.” Jim raised his hands in surrender and hung his head. “Alright. I don’t have enough fight in me to take on both of you right now.” With a full-on pout, he raised his eyes to McCoy’s before presenting his wrists as if for handcuffs. “Go on, officer. Take me away.”

 

“Drama queen,” McCoy muttered under his breath, before grabbing one of the offered wrists and gently tugging in the direction of the campus entrance.

 

“Oh, wait,” Coby suddenly spoke up. The kid was holding onto Jim’s elbow. “Jim, can I… How can I find you later? Just so I can see how you’re doing…”

 

Kirk’s whole demeanor suddenly seemed to brighten, as if the sun decided that possessing Jim would be a better alternative than trying to peek through the cloud cover. “How ‘bout I give you my number?” Jim said through his most charming smile, and McCoy could practically taste Coby’s swooning.

 

Oh, wait a second. Shit. What the hell?

 

Were they flirting? Had Jim and Coby been flirting the whole time?

 

A burst of flustered embarrassment overtook McCoy as it dawned on him that he had interrupted what might have been a date gone awry. And as Jim and Coby exchanged numbers, it occurred to McCoy that he was _still_ standing in on their private time. What the hell? What was _wrong_ with kids?! Who got together so Goddamn early in the morning?!

 

Jim leaned down to whisper something in Coby’s ear, and the shorter blonde immediately blushed. McCoy looked away, as an urge to bolt into some dark corner started to build up between his ribs.

 

“Okay, then I’ll see you around,” Jim said as a final farewell, before stepping to McCoy’s side.

 

McCoy and Coby shared an awkward nod with no eye contact on McCoy’s part— _God, fuck, shit, why the hell did he have to be so fucking awkward?—_ and the doctor hurriedly started ushering Jim away.

 

They only got a few steps before McCoy caved under embarrassed guilt. “I’m sorry for interrupting you two.”

 

Jim snorted quietly (and McCoy noticed him subtly wince in pain). “It’s fine, not your fault it ended up like this. Besides,” a downright _lewd_ smile overtook Jim’s face. “I know just how to make it up to him later.”

 

The surrounding cold air was abruptly the easiest thing in the world to ignore, as searing heat washed over McCoy’s face. “Alright, stop, I don’t want to hear about it.”

 

Jim chuckled quietly, but it didn’t last long. “Hey, Bones,” he muttered. “Where are we going? The clinic is that way.”

 

“We’re not going to the clinic. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

 

“What?” Jim disappeared from beside McCoy, and the doctor looked back to see the kid had stopped in his tracks. “The hospital?” Jim croaked. “When you said that before, I thought you were talking about the clinic and were just being pretentious about it. You’re taking me off campus?”

 

“Yeah.” McCoy rolled his shoulder as a subdued way to beckon Jim over. “Now, come on. I’m already running late.”

 

“Bones, I can’t go off campus.” Jim frowned at him as though he were simultaneously an idiot and a threat. “I’m suspended, remember? You _can’t_ take me to the hospital. Not there.”

 

“Yeah, but you forget I'm a doctor? Certified by Starfleet?” McCoy stepped towards Jim, to get rid of the distance the kid had created. “My medical expertise overrules what they say. And if I say you ought to be treated off campus, then you're gonna be treated off campus.”

 

To his astonishment, Jim didn’t seem the least bit pleased about being able to break his suspension. Instead, he shuffled his feet in obvious discomfort and looked around as if for an escape route. “Look, Bones… Honestly, I'm actually fine. You don't have to take me to the hospital. Here—I'll just take _myself_ to the nurse, all right? So you can just… be on your way, and I'll be on mine.”

 

McCoy scowled before he could stop himself. “Why do I get the feeling that you'll just run off without getting _any_ treatment if I leave you alone?”

 

Jim released a weird laugh that just convinced McCoy he had hit the nail on the head.

 

“Jim.” McCoy sighed in irritation through his nose (even though it kind of hurt, he was still healing from the bar fight). “If you don't let me help you, then there's a chance you'll lose hearing in that ear. Are you sure you want to take that risk?”

 

Jim’s response was silence and a nearly unnoticeable gulp.

 

After releasing one more sigh for good measure, McCoy held a beckoning hand out towards Jim. “Come on.”

 

Jim let McCoy take his elbow, but he was _definitely_ dragging his feet.

 

McCoy felt like he was trying to haul a petulant child to the dentist. “What are you, _four?_ ” McCoy grunted as he tried to get Jim to pick up the pace.

 

“Three and a half, actually.”

 

“ _Oh my God.”_ Why? Why was Jim like this?

 

And why the hell couldn’t McCoy just leave him to suffer like they obviously _both_ wanted him to?

 

* * *

 

McCoy tried to ignore it. Really, he did.

 

But Jim just wouldn’t stop shivering, and it was getting to a point where it was not only distracting, but worrying.

 

McCoy side-eyed the blonde beside him, at the way Jim’s hands were gripped tight around the seat of the tram they were in. His leg was bouncing furiously, most likely Jim’s best attempt to hide how badly he was trembling.

 

But the effort was futile. It was cold as balls, after all, regardless of the meager heat blowing through the tram. And Jim was still only clad in gym clothes, which was just a pair of red sweats and a gray t-shirt. That wasn’t nearly enough to protect against the frigid San Francisco air.

 

McCoy sighed irritably. He probably should’ve let Jim grab a jacket before they’d left. “Sorry,” he grunted.

 

Jim didn’t look at him, and instead kept his eyes straight ahead as he answered. “For what? Kidnapping me?”

 

McCoy snorted despite himself. “ _No._ For taking you without letting you grab your jacket first.”

 

“I don’t have a jacket.”

 

Wait… what?

 

McCoy leveled a hard stare at Jim. “You don’t? At _all_?”

 

Jim, still not making eye contact, shrugged as much as he could while keeping a tight hold on the bottom of his seat.

 

“Do you have _anything_ warm to wear?”

 

Jim scoffed quietly. “Bones, do you think I only wear my reds in this weather for fun?”

 

Was he implying that his uniform was the warmest set of clothing he had? It occurred to McCoy that he couldn’t think of a single time where the kid wore anything _but_ his reds. Well, save for their first shuttle ride together. But if his memory served him right, then McCoy remembered those clothes being filthy. His shirt and jacket had been covered in blood, and there was nondescript grime and dirt all over the rest of him.

 

And McCoy had only sat next to Jim after the other had already been seated, so he had assumed that Jim had already put away his stuff in the luggage compartment. But… God, what if he didn’t _have_ any luggage? He hadn’t seen Jim after getting off of the shuttle, at least not until he passed by Jim arguing with that medical officer, but he couldn’t remember seeing any sort of bag near Jim at that time.

 

Did the kid own _anything_ that wasn’t given to him by Starfleet?

 

Fuck, if that was the case, a whole bunch of things suddenly made sense. Like Jim never having an umbrella on him, or any sort of jacket, or… Or why the only thing he wore to the bar was his reds.

 

Jim getting in trouble for that night suddenly felt ten times more unfair. Jim wore his reds that night—and subsequently _fought_ in his reds—because it was literally all he had to wear. Him making Starfleet look bad by fighting while in uniform couldn’t have been _less_ deliberate.

 

“Jim, do you… Do you need clothes?”

 

Jim finally made eye contact with him, though he still seemed as pent up as he had been the whole ride. “Why’re you asking?” His face abruptly pulled into a jarringly smug leer. “You offering to be my sugar daddy?”

 

McCoy choked on his spit. “No! God, no! Forget I asked!”

 

Jim laughed brightly to himself, apparently pleased as peaches for getting McCoy flustered.

 

McCoy glowered at him, but his irritation with the other dwindled away the longer he watched Jim shiver. Damn it. He just could _not_ in good conscience let the kid continue to freeze. Without another thought, McCoy shucked his jacket off of his own shoulders and draped it over Jim’s head.

 

Jim stiffened.

 

“Gripe if you want, but I can’t call myself a doctor if I just let someone get sick when there’s something I can do about it.” McCoy fought off a shiver of his own once the colder air really hit him. He pulled his sleeves farther down his arms in a feeble attempt to make himself just a little warmer. At least he _had_ long sleeves, unlike Jim.

 

Who still hadn’t moved or spoken.

 

McCoy couldn’t see Jim’s face beyond where the jacket was draped, but his tone was unexpectedly devoid of emotion when he finally spoke up. “I don’t need your charity.”

 

What the hell?

 

McCoy blinked at him before giving a slight huff. “It’s not _charity_ , you imbecile. I’m doing this for my _own_ good.”

 

Jim peeked at him, but his icy eyes betrayed nothing.

 

“I’d rather not deal with you as a sick patient, you know?” McCoy added, shaking his head. “Just the thought of you when you’re sick is sending shivers down my spine. If I can save myself from that nightmare, then I will. Now put the damn thing on already.”

 

McCoy refrained from staring at the kid as the seconds dragged on, and instead eyed the other passengers of the tram like he wasn’t invested in Jim actually keeping warm. Finally, out of the corner of his eye, McCoy watched Jim slowly ease his way into McCoy’s jacket. It was bigger on the kid’s frame than on the doctor’s, but McCoy didn’t dwell on it.

 

* * *

 

As they stepped up to the hospital’s main doors, McCoy noticed that Jim was twitching like he was preparing to bolt at any moment. And that just wouldn’t do. McCoy pressed a hand in between Jim’s shoulder blades to usher him forward, and idly noted how tight the kid’s muscles were. “Don’t even think about running off,” McCoy warned.

 

“I seriously think this is overkill,” Jim hissed. “I’m _fine._ I can head back on my own.”

 

“Uh-uh.” McCoy shook his head, frowning sidelong at Jim. “You are not going anywhere without getting treated first.”

 

Jim sighed through bared teeth, though it came out as more of a growl. What the fuck was up with him? Why was he so against getting treatment? Once they stepped into the hospital’s lobby, his back muscles somehow bunched up _tighter_ against McCoy’s hand.

 

“Hey,” McCoy whispered. “Relax.”

 

They stepped up to the desk and McCoy nodded at Marta, the nurse currently running it. “Where’s Almanzar?” he asked her.

 

Marta eyed the blood that was still caked on the side of Jim’s head and neck. “She’s upstairs right now. I’m guessing we need her?”

 

“Yup.” McCoy shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Burst eardrum. Shallow tearing around the tragus.” He started heading towards the doors that led to the back, but a cold hand gripped his elbow _really_ hard. McCoy blinked at Jim owlishly, took in the tension in the kid’s whole appearance and the wild look of panic in his eyes.

 

“You’re not treating me?” Jim asked, and the vein on his neck was frantically pulsing. “You’re just gonna leave?”

 

“Look, ears aren’t my area of expertise,” McCoy said while he laid a careful hand over Jim’s covered wrist. Something in his instincts was telling him to act like he was dealing with a caged, frightened animal. What in the hell was setting Jim off so much? “But it’s fine, you’ll be alright. Doctor Almanzar is perfectly capable.”

 

Jim swallowed roughly, and his ears were turning a vibrant shade of red. McCoy was reminded of how they looked that day Jim had been taken out of their Tarsus unit.

 

“I’ll be around,” McCoy promised, softer. “But I can’t stick around here, I’m needed elsewhere for my shift.”

 

Jim yanked his hand back and the sleeves of McCoy’s jacket covered the kid’s balled fists. “How long will it take?” Jim ground out, his eyes still sharp and _cold._ “How long will it take before I can get out of here?”

 

“Not long.” McCoy made brief eye contact with Marta, and she nodded, quietly assuring him that what he was telling Jim was true. “Definitely not more than an hour.”

 

Jim’s nostrils flared, and he winced, apparently having disturbed his hurt ear with the action.

 

“McCoy?”

 

McCoy turned to the velvety voice that had just come from the nearby lift, nodding in acknowledgment at Almanzar as she approached. She was tall and lean, her dark hair kept in a sleek ponytail that always swayed when she moved.

 

“Hey,” McCoy greeted. “This here is Kirk. He hurt his ear, as you can see.”

 

She hummed and stepped closer.

 

Jim eyed her warily, which was strange. McCoy had been expecting Jim to start flirting immediately. Almanzar _was_ beautiful, after all. She seemed like she’d be Jim’s type.

 

“How are you doing, mister Kirk?” she asked, and held out her hand for shaking.

 

Jim stared at her hand but didn’t move to take it. Jesus, why the hell was he being so rude? “I’m fine,” he bit out.

 

“That blood would say otherwise,” Almanzar replied as she took her hand back, and McCoy noted how her posture relaxed minutely. She must have also picked up on Jim’s inexplicably heightened nerves. “If you’d come with me, then we can get you cleared out of here in no time at all.”

 

He watched her like a feral dog would a potential threat, and still didn’t say anything.

 

“It’s alright,” Almanzar soothed. “The sooner you let me see to you, the sooner you can leave.”

 

Jim continued to eye her, and McCoy realized that the kid was squeezing the ends of his sleeves with white-knuckled fists. “Okay,” Jim finally said slowly. “Then let’s get it over with.”

 

Almanzar nodded amiably, before turning and trusting Jim to follow her. As Jim haltingly forced himself to trail behind her, he cast one final look at McCoy over his shoulder. His eyes were alight with… _something_ that McCoy couldn’t quite place, and a hot, confusing burst of worry lit the inside of McCoy’s chest.

 

Once the kid was out of sight, McCoy leaned towards Marta. “There’s a good chance I won’t see him again once I start working. When he comes back out, make sure he takes that jacket with him.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it's taken me so long to update ;0; 
> 
> School let out a few weeks ago, and I've been sleeping... SO MUCH... like I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I finally had a chance to rest ;; I've been meaning to do lots of writing lately, but I've been having a hard time of it... AAHH and part had been hoping to finish Let Me Help by the end of the summer ;m; I mean there's still time for it to happen, but... ahaha, I guess we'll just have to see if I can get it together xwx;;;
> 
> Anyway! I'm really glad I FINALLY finished this chapter >0< it went on for way longer than I expected, and there was actually other stuff that I had planned, but now I've just decided to use that stuff in the next chapter. I just really wanted to update this before my birthday (which is tomorrow), because my birthday week is always mad busy @m@ 
> 
> Oh well! Once again, I LOVE LOVE LOVE you guys!! Y'all seriously keep me so motivated ;A; more so than I think you'll ever realize. I'll try to update again soon! Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Oh! Um! Also! Here's Jim's and McCoy's combined schedule!! https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/15ruJPQ2a7WGlwZHZgV4auVaCFZjcTc7-AkeQ0wf4GH8/edit?usp=sharing


	9. Year One, Semester One; ACT III, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy talks to Jim about his behavior at the hospital, and then Thanksgiving rolls around.

**YEAR ONE, SEMESTER ONE**

**ACT III**

**_Part 1 of 3_ **

 

“Ah, McCoy!”

 

McCoy paused halfway into his civvies, and turned to Almanzar who was approaching him from the locker room doorway. 

 

“I’m glad I caught you before you left,” she said once she was closer. “I wanted to talk to you about the cadet you brought in.”

 

McCoy frowned and finished situating his clothes. “About Jim?” He paused, as a strange spark of worry lit his chest. “Did something happen while you were treating him?”

 

“Sort of.” Almanzar’s lips thinned into a line of concern, and her eyes wandered to the side while she thought. “How much do you know about his past?”

 

Huh?

 

“Absolutely nothing,” McCoy admitted. He and Jim were only acquaintances, after all. They just barely learned where the other was from. “Why are you asking? What happened?”

 

She sighed. “I’m asking because he was very agitated while I treated him.” 

 

McCoy thought her words over for a moment, and nodded slowly in agreement. “Yeah, I noticed he was particularly strung up this morning.”

 

Almanzar only continued talking after she'd caught his eye. “He was very curt with us the whole time, and only responded when absolutely necessary. And he wouldn’t stop watching us with these… I don’t know how to put it. These...  _ stares _ that were borderline accusatory.” She paused. “Is he always so on edge?”

 

“No,” McCoy shook his head and tightened his grip on his bag in thought. “That kind of behavior is really abnormal for him, at least based on what I’ve seen. He’s generally a pretty talkative and sociable guy, and I… I don’t really know why he was acting the way he was.”

 

“Hmm.” She glanced at her watch, before inching back the way she had come. “His behavior reminded me of some things I’ve seen in some trauma patients, but… I can’t  _ imagine _ what would make him correlate hospital personnel with trauma. Just be sure to keep an eye on him, alright, McCoy?” She paused in the doorway. “If you’re friends, try talking to him to see what you can do to make this easier next time. And if you’re  _ not _ friends… Well, just be careful with him.”

 

McCoy nodded at her as she left, but his heart wasn’t exactly in it. He tried to think back on how Jim had been acting.

 

Had Jim been showing signs of trauma? Or was there something else that had been bothering him?

 

* * *

 

McCoy didn’t hear from Jim again until Sunday.

 

When he did, it was in the form of a message on his PADD. He had been taking his time getting ready for the day and was leaning on his counter, waiting for his coffee to heat up, when a loud vibrating sound came from his table.

 

In his sleepy state, it took him longer than he’d like to admit to realize that it was just the sound of a notification on his PADD, and not that of a beehive that had abruptly manifested in his dorm. Once he swiped it open, he had to stare at the message for a few seconds before its words finally registered.

 

_ Hey r u busy rn? _

 

He hesitated.

 

_ Why? _

 

_ How do u feel about hot chocolate? _

 

How did he feel about hot chocolate? What kind of question was that? Was—Was Jim asking about having hot chocolate together? Was Jim actually wanting to spend time together?

 

After Jim’s behavior at the hospital, and with the way his coworkers had talked about him, McCoy had been working under the assumption that the kid wouldn’t want to be near him for a while. Certainly not before Monday. 

 

After all, it _was_ _McCoy_ that had dragged Jim there. And it hadn’t been lost on McCoy at that time how unhappy Jim was about that. The kid’s discomfort had grown even more obvious in hindsight.

 

So McCoy had been anticipating Jim’s unhappiness—particularly with him—to last a while longer. McCoy couldn’t help but stare apprehensively at Jim’s message.

 

Eventually, he figured it would be in bad form for him not to reply at all.

 

_ I have no problem with it. _

 

Jim’s reply was immediate.  _ Alright I’ll see u at same cafe as last time _

 

“And just like that, he’s decided,” McCoy huffed to himself. Jim’s message left him no choice in the matter whatsoever. 

 

He glanced forlornly at the coffee on his counter. He wasn’t a big fan of wasting food or anything of the sort. He sighed. Well, he supposed he could put it in a container and reheat it for tomorrow. It wasn’t going to taste very good, but at least it wouldn’t go to waste.

 

Grumbling under his breath, McCoy took his time getting ready to leave. Jim hadn’t given him an exact meeting time, after all. The kid could wait for a while.

 

* * *

 

“Finally!” Jim huffed once McCoy walked through the cafe’s doors. “For a second there, I was afraid I was getting stood up!”

 

McCoy almost stopped in his tracks the moment he processed Jim’s appearance. The kid was wearing the jacket.  _ McCoy’s _ jacket, the one McCoy had given him on the tram. He… seriously hadn’t expected Jim to hold on to it, and he steadfastly ignored the weird little jump his heart did at seeing someone else wearing his clothes.

 

_ We are  _ not _ going down that road, _ he reminded himself.  _ We’re not getting close to anyone here. The kid simply would have gotten stupid sick if he’d gone any longer without a jacket. _

 

Before too much time could pass of McCoy just staring and not responding, he finally said, “I bet it’d do you good to get rejected every now and then.” He ignored Jim’s affronted gape and placed himself in the chair across from the younger cadet. 

 

“That’s so not true,” Jim sniffed. “Rejection does nothing good for one’s self-esteem! I’m just as sensitive as the next guy!”

 

McCoy raised a brow at him. “You. Sensitive.” He leaned forward, as though he were sharing a secret. “You do know body sensitivity and emotional sensitivity aren’t the same thing, right?”

 

Jim paused for a long while, McCoy’s comment apparently throwing him off guard, and the dragging silence started to make McCoy wish he could take it back. But eventually Jim’s face pulled into a devilishly pleased grin, and the kid muttered, “Bones, look at you. Making jokes at my expense that are laced with sexual undertones. Are you coming on to me?”

 

McCoy leaned back and started unwrapping the scarf around his neck. It was soft and brown, one his ma had made him when he was still attending Ole Miss. “You wish.” Once it was off, he held it in his lap and sighed. He really wanted to know why Jim had called him out. He leveled the other with a hard stare. “So, Jim—”

 

“Ah, hold that thought,” Jim broke in, as he stood from his seat to approach the counter.

 

McCoy sighed and watched him go.

 

It seemed Jim was back to acting like his old self. McCoy frowned and wrung the scarf in his lap, as it occurred to him that this wasn’t the first time he’d seen Jim’s behavior do a 180. When Jim had gotten sick a few weeks ago, right when they started the Tarsus unit, Jim had acted abrasively for a day and then somehow got over it. Granted, he had been  _ sick _ at the time, and most people tended to get grouchy when sick. But the thing that had caught McCoy’s attention was how quickly Jim had been able to brush his own less-than-friendly attitude off.

 

McCoy narrowed his eyes at Jim, who was obviously flirting with the barista at the counter. Jim didn’t seem like the type to be prone to mood swings. First of all, if he was, then McCoy would’ve heard about it by now.

 

Jim was always being viewed under a tight lens by the rest of the student body, so if he  _ ever _ did something abnormal, word got around. And if he was someone who was prone to being aggressive like the few times McCoy had seen, then… That definitely would have found a solid foothold in the rumor mill. 

 

But it seemed Jim was so good about keeping his behavior in check that most people had never had to interact with a blatantly unhappy Jim. McCoy had the feeling that the only reason he’d seen Jim in bad moods was because he just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Or  _ wrong _ time, rather.

 

Another sigh breezed past McCoy’s lips, and he rubbed at his chin unconsciously. Jim was good at maintaining an appearance of happy-go-lucky idiocy, and that mask had only slipped twice in McCoy’s presence. It seemed… that mask almost  _ never  _ slipped. That Jim had perfected the front he put up. 

 

An image of Jim’s demeanor at the hospital flashed through McCoy’s mind, and he focused hard on the memory of the strange fire that had been burning in the kid’s eyes. His behavior at that time was so,  _ so _ different from his regular self. It made McCoy wonder…

 

How much of what Jim presented was the true Jim? And exactly how much was he hiding?

 

_ “His behavior reminded me of some things I’ve seen in some trauma patients,” _ Almanzar had said. 

 

If Jim was so good at keeping up appearances that all was well, then wouldn’t he conceivably be able to hide trauma until pushed to a breaking point? Like, say, pushed into a situation that made his trauma impossible to ignore? Like being forced to go to a hospital? 

 

And if that were the case—that he could control how much of himself he showed until put into a situation that hit his tolerance threshold… Then exactly how much trauma would Jim be able to hide?

 

How much of  _ himself _ was he hiding?

 

“Bones, if you keep thinking so hard you’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm.” 

 

McCoy blinked at the cup of hot chocolate that was placed in front of him, before turning his gaze towards Jim’s. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how aneurysms work.”

 

“And how would you know?” Jim asked incredulously as he plopped into his seat, before adjusting McCoy’s jacket closer around himself. “It’s not like you’re a  _ doctor _ or anything.”

 

McCoy raised a brow at how normal Jim made wearing his jacket seem, but didn’t comment. If Jim wasn’t gonna mention it, then neither would he. It would only be a big deal if they made it one, and McCoy was pretty sure neither of them needed or wanted that. Plus… Jim seemed like he’d give the jacket back if any attention was brought to it, and that wasn’t exactly what McCoy wanted. So he took a sip instead of responding. He wasn’t really in the mood to play into Jim’s games about his doctorhood, anyway. At least, not with so many questions still swirling in his mind.

 

He set his mug down and stared at it for a few seconds. “Jim, why’d you call me here?”

 

“Oh.” Jim averted his eyes and tapped his hands against the table, his tapping a little too loud for it to be just casual movement. “Thanksgiving is coming up, you know? We’re gonna have a few days off, so I was wondering if there was anything else you wanted to do about our project before the break.”

 

McCoy blinked in mild confusion. Was that really Jim’s reason for calling him out? “Oh… No, I think we’re all right. I haven’t thought of anything to add to it. All we have left to do is polish it up.”

 

Jim nodded and sipped at his own hot chocolate. McCoy noted that it didn’t have any whipped cream, which was kind of surprising. Jim seemed like a sugary drinks kind of guy. 

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jim muttered. “I suppose if we spend too much time on it, we’ll just end up hating it.”

 

“Hm.” McCoy frowned. He wondered if the project really was what Jim wanted to talk about. Either way… it wasn’t what  _ McCoy _ had been waiting to talk about. He honestly wanted to know why Jim had acted the way he had at the hospital. Well. Might as well be out with it. “Jim, why were you like that at the hospital?”

 

Jim stopped fidgeting, but he didn’t look up. “Like what?” His voice betrayed nothing.

 

McCoy crossed his arms. “You know what I’m talking about.”

 

Jim finally looked at him, but his expression was one of pure innocence.

 

McCoy sighed and rolled his eyes. “Abrasive. Aggressive. All strung up.”

 

“Ah. _ That. _ ” Jim went back to tapping the tabletop in what was likely a physical manifestation of discomfort. 

 

He didn’t say anything for a few long seconds, and as the silence continued McCoy’s apprehension and  curiosity increased.

 

Jim finally leaned back and, still not looking up, said, “Alright, look. I’m gonna be honest with you.”

 

Oh? McCoy had had his suspicions that Jim wasn’t always truthful, especially not with  _ him, _ so he gripped his cup a little tighter in anticipation while he let the kid gather his words.

 

Jim cleared his throat and scratched at his cheek, a small series of little stalling actions. “I’m, uh…” He tapped the table once, twice more, before he withdrew his hands and took a deep breath. “Look, I,” he brought his eyes up to McCoy’s, and the doctor was immediately trapped in that earnest blue gaze. “I can  _ not _ stand medical spaces. I’m talking hospitals, medbays, nurse’s offices… I just can’t do it.”

 

Almanzar’s words struck McCoy again, particularly what she had said about thinking Jim had trauma. If Jim had an actual repulsion with medical spaces, then maybe something happened to him in one. Something bad. He tried to imagine would sort of ailment could give someone such a strong aversion to a place they may have been treated in, and wondered if it had been a serious illness or injury that had put Jim in a hospital. He looked over Jim’s visible skin, but couldn’t see any marks or scars that could hint at a previous significant injury. He frowned and decided to lay out the option for Jim to tell him himself. “Bad experience?” 

 

Jim huffed quietly and looked away. “More like a few.”

 

A few? Then, maybe it wasn’t an injury and had been a recurring illness, some sort of sickness that would send him to a hospital multiple times. “What happened?”

 

Jim shifted in his seat and started tapping his fingers again. “Let’s just say Iowa doesn’t employ the best or brightest.” Jim took a long sip from his hot chocolate and didn’t look up. His hands were trembling.

 

Wait… Wait a second. What?

 

Was he implying his aversion to medical spaces wasn’t necessarily because of a bad injury or illness, but rather… because of bad medical care? An apoplectic wave of disbelieving  _ rage _ rolled through McCoy’s chest at the mere thought.

 

Few things made him as furious as medical professionals doing a poor job, especially if their inadequacy could affect their patients like  _ Jim _ apparently had been. Having an aversion to hospitals because of spending time in one due to being sick or hurt was one thing, but having an aversion because of the treatment given? 

 

McCoy’s breaths stilled as a memory from the second day of school rushed to the forefront of his mind.

 

_ Jim had been acting reserved, but after McCoy stated he was a doctor the kid practically closed off like window shutters in a storm. And in a neutral, detached voice, he asked, “You’re a doctor?” _

 

Oh,  _ fuck. _

 

So much about Jim—particularly his reactions to McCoy—suddenly made  _ so much sense. _ No wonder he always seemed so tense around him, no wonder he acted weird whenever McCoy’s profession was brought up. God, McCoy couldn’t even fathom how badly Jim must have been treated if all mentions of doctors or hospitals got such bad reactions out of him. If just  _alluding_ to what had been done to him in the past got his hands to start shaking.

 

_ Trauma. _ Jim had been  _ traumatized by doctors. _

 

What the fuck had they done to him?

 

With this realization, McCoy couldn’t find it in himself to be at all bothered by any of his past interactions with Jim. He had seen how Jim was at the hospital. He had trauma, and he had it bad. And still… all things considered, he was always civil with McCoy. Despite the fact that apparently all things having to do with the medical field affected him in an incredibly negative way. It was a wonder that he could tolerate being around McCoy, and even more astounding was the fact that he had allowed Almanzar and the others to treat him  _ despite _ how being there affected him. McCoy couldn’t begrudge Jim his behavior at the hospital at all.

 

“You don’t trust doctors,” McCoy said, clarifying what had been insinuated for months now.

 

Jim spared him a glance, and without even trying to sugarcoat himself, replied with a solid, “No. I don’t.”

 

It was unspoken, but McCoy knew that meant Jim didn’t really trust him, either. He wasn’t hurt by this, as he had suspected it were true even before he knew Jim disliked all doctors in general.

 

McCoy stared into his nearly empty cup, observed the specks of chocolate that were collecting around the edges of the warm liquid. “Jim...” 

 

What could he say? He wanted to apologize, wanted to atone for how Jim had apparently been treated in Iowa, but he didn’t know the kid well enough. Didn’t like the kid well enough. And… part of him suspected that even if Jim were to get an apology, it would be too little too late.

 

And it wasn’t like it was his responsibility for all patients everywhere to be treated correctly. Jim’s past wasn’t his fault. But… even so, he didn’t like it. It really, really bothered him. Jim wasn’t a bad person, and in McCoy’s opinion, he didn’t deserve half the stuff that seemed to have been dealt out to him. Especially foul treatment from other doctors. God, it really pissed him the fuck off whenever he learned about medical professionals acting as anything but.

 

He could feel a headache starting to thrum at the back of his head, and he rubbed at his eyes tiredly. It was a miracle that Jim had let his ear get treated at all. “Jim… thank you.”

 

Jim made a confused sound at the back of his throat. “What for?”

 

McCoy ran his hand into his hair, and blinked at Jim. “For letting me take you to get treated.”

 

Jim gave a little smile, but he sighed softly. “Yeah, well. You wouldn’t have let me go if I didn’t.” He paused to pick up his cup, but all he did was stare into it. “The reason I told you is so that you don’t take me back again. To the hospital or clinic.” He glanced at McCoy, his eyes once again alight with an earnest sheen. “If it can at all be avoided, do  _ not _ take me in to get treated. Please, never take me back there.”

 

McCoy was floored by how quiet and serious Jim’s voice had gotten, by how he _pleaded._  He found himself nodding despite being unable to promise anything with certainty. As a doctor, he knew it was his duty to ensure those who needed help got the best that was possible, and that usually meant taking them to the hospital. But... being put into psychologically stressful situations wasn’t good for anyone. 

 

He thought back to the tension he had seen in Jim’s whole body at the hospital, and wondered if Jim were the type to get violent if put into a situation too triggering or traumatic. 

 

If it really could be avoided, maybe keeping Jim out of the hospital would be best for everyone. 

 

McCoy finished off the last of his drink in a quick swig, before looking at Jim again. “If you keep yourself healthy and unharmed, that won't be a problem. If there’s no reason to treat you, then you won't have to be taken anywhere to get treatment.”

 

Jim gave a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, you're right."

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week had continued like normal, aside from the fact that it only lasted Monday through Wednesday. Starfleet gave them Thursday through Sunday off, to celebrate Thanksgiving either in San Francisco or elsewhere. 

 

Not everyone celebrated the holiday anymore, but Starfleet Academy had modeled a fair amount of its structure and breaks off of the scheduling of the Old American school system. Either way, no cadets were complaining about a little break every now and then. 

 

McCoy took the opportunity to visit Georgia, at least for a few days.

 

He left Wednesday night and arrived early Thursday morning, and he used his train ride to Atlanta to calm the panicked jitters the shuttle ride out of California had given him. He hated flying, and probably always would. Starfleet was such a weird fucking career choice, but at least he knew he wouldn’t  _ have _ to serve in space. He’d be plenty useful in one of the planetside Starfleet hospitals.

 

He arrived at his mom’s ranch house around mid-afternoon. The first day with her had been a little awkward, their relationship still a tad strained after everything with Jocelyn and everything with… his dad.

 

But it was nice, even still. McCoy liked being back in Georgia, even if his ma’s house was a little unfamiliar to him. The family’s house that McCoy had grown up in was given to his sister, and his mom moved out in the country after she was widowed.

 

The property was pleasant enough. There was a lot of land, perfect for morning walks and sitting on the porch, and it provided a good amount of running space for his mom’s horse. McCoy’s favorite thing about the place was the pond, though. Reeds grew along its edges, and there was a charming little deck for sitting and reading.

 

Which was where McCoy had been spending most of his time for the weekend. Being outside always made him feel a little lighter, a little fresher. And though there were plenty of spots to hang around outside on campus, there was nothing quite like the Georgia air on a healthy and well-kept ranch.

 

The solitude was an added bonus. McCoy knew his ma was happy to have him, but he also knew she was still sore. He was, too, so he didn’t blame her. This new property allowed them to spend time together, and still spend plenty of time out of each other’s hair. 

 

McCoy rearranged his textbooks beside him, and brushed aside some stray leaves before he continued typing. Just because it was break, that didn’t mean he didn’t have any work to do. He was just grateful for the change of scenery. He chewed idly on the end of his pen and looked up.

 

The sun was low in the sky, but he still had maybe twenty minutes to sit outside. He liked being able to work in the open air, but he could also feel how quickly the temperature was dropping. The body of water he was sitting in front wasn’t helping things, either. He drew his coat tighter about himself and watched a sparrow fly from the house to the big tree across the pond. 

 

The light was slowly developing into a hazy orange, heralding the oncoming sunset, and it reminded McCoy of the fire that was waiting for him in the living room. Being here was… relaxing. 

 

It would be infinitely better if he were able to see Joanna, but… Jocelyn said she didn’t want to have to drive all the way out to the country. McCoy wanted to see his little girl desperately, but he could wait a little longer. Jocelyn had agreed that he could see his baby on Christmas. 

 

It was just one more month, and he knew December would be on him before he knew it. He sighed softly and watched his breath fog in front of his face, signaling that it was time he went inside.

 

He carefully gathered his things, and stared out across the water once he was on his feet. Reds and yellows reflected off of the pond’s surface in blinding sparkles, like fireflies in a jar. He inhaled deeply. 

 

He loved being home, but… it wasn’t really his home. Not anymore. This house belonged to his mom, the place he grew up in belonged to his sister, and Jocelyn… Anywhere he had lived at with her no longer belonged to him in any capacity.

 

He glanced at his PADD where his and Jim’s project was open, and wondered if he would ever again find somewhere — or someone — he could call home.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohkay!!! I'm so glad I finished this -o- I was afraid the month was gonna end without ANY updates happening! But luckily I got this out before September could sneak up on me.
> 
> That being said, I want to let y'all know that this is gonna be the last update for this fic for a while. I am absolutely not abandoning it, but right now I want to focus on the other fic (Let Me Help) as much as possible. Let Me Help only has four chapters left and I promised myself I would finish writing that fic before the year ends. And in the past year or so, I've noticed that it takes me on average about a month to finish a chapter, which is why Let Me Help and Good for the Soul only get updated every two months. So seeing how much time I have left before the end of the year, I want to devote all of that time towards finishing Let Me Help.
> 
> For those of you that read both fics, you'll still be getting your monthly updates from me. Those of you that only read this fic... I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until Let Me Help is complete. I hope you can forgive me lol
> 
> Thank you for your understanding and your time, and hopefully it won't take me too long to get back to these wily cadets!


End file.
